The Theatre of Life - Part 1
by rakel_imagine
Carlos Marchena looked at everyone's faces. They were making the presentation of the new course. The director, Pellegrini, was talking to the new students of the theater academy - the most important one in the country-- and all the teachers had to be there, sitting and looking at the student's faces. There was Joaquin, the backstage teacher. His job was to teach the students how to control lights, decorations, and everything else. There was Bobby, the Musical Theater teacher, and by his side was Santi, the Theater in Literature teacher. Finally, by Santi's side was his best friend, Joan Capdevila, the drama teacher. There he was! Standing next to Santi; that... stupid, to be kind and respectful, man. But, seriously! He was a stupid man.
“How can the director speak this much?” Santi asked Joan in a whisper. Marchena frowned and tried to focus on the students when Joan, the stupid man, started to laugh. In front of all of new kids, still full of illusion.
Poor kids. Not even a quarter of them were going to finish the four courses - Carlos knew it well. It wasn't easy. Of course, it wasn't. Of those less than twenty-five students that were going to make it to the last course, and just one or two would be able to live from working in the theater. But that was why they were the best ones. Because they had one or two every year. Most schools had one or two every decade.
“... And good luck. Now go to your rooms and start to get used to the rules of the Academy, or go back home. If you stay, be here tomorrow at the right time to start,” the director finished. There was a light ovation, and then students started to leave in little groups. Pellegrini looked at them.
“Prepared for the new course? Oh of course you are. See you all tomorrow,” he left the theater of the school, the place the speech was held every year, and when he left Joaquin got up.
“Do you want to go out for a beer?” Joaquin asked, walking to Carlos. “Come on! You need it, you old boring man”
“Yeah, mate, that really helps to make me want to go out,” Carlos answered, faking a smile. Joaquin slide an arm over his shoulders.
“You are coming anyway,” Joaquin said. Carlos shrugged but nodded.
“Okay then.” Carlos answered.
They ended up in a bar close to the Academy, all of them together, and they saw that Gonzalo was there, with a guy. When Joan and Santi saw it, both of them looked to Bobby, worried. Bobby was looking at Gonzalo, frowning, but he didn't say anything. He just murmured something and went to the bathroom.
“He should talk to him” Santi said when Bobby was gone.
“What for? Gonza is a... free guy,” Joan started to say. “He seems interested in Bo, all of us know that-”
“Except him...” Santi interrupted.
“Okay, except Bobby himself, but even with that, we all know that Bobby wants more than just a fuck from time to time,” Joan finished as the waiter arrived to the table. When they had asked for some drinks-- and something for Bobby, they all knew what the French liked-- Joaquin looked at Joan.
“But has Bobby told you about it?” Joaquin asked, with a surprised expression in his face. Joan and Santi laughed.
“Of course not!” Santi said “But it's pretty clear. All day is 'Gonza this, Gonza that, Gonza Gonza Gonza...' and... you all know how he is. He's one of those men that need a dinner before a good trip to bed...” Santi explained. Then Bobby came back to the table.
“Hey Bo, is everything alright?”
“Sure, have you ordered?”
“Yeah, we got for a beer for you. That's okay?” Joan asked.
“Perfect,” Bobby answered. They started to have a trivial conversation about Joaquin's new car. It ended up as a conversation about the shitty motorbike that Santi bought with Joaquin offering himself for repairing it and making 'a few changes to make it better and cool-ya-know-mate.'
During their conversation, Bobby was looking at Gonzalo once every few seconds. And Carlos was constantly looking at Joan.
But he was looking at Joan thinking “Oh fuck! I hate you.”
He was thinking that. He didn't like the guy at all. He gave difficulties to his classes, because he thought “the history takes so much study time and my guys can't practice my subject.” But Joan was just a man that didn't know how to grow up.
To be fair, Carlos was close to the forties, and Joan was just a little into his thirties, but that didn't make a difference. Joan was, psychologically, just a kid. Santi, his best friend, seemed to be the same. The difference was, when the situation was important, Santi knew to stop and act like an adult. But Carlos had never seen Joan acting like an adult.
Well, as an actor and a professional, yes. But never in the theater of the real life.
After a few drinks Carlos was starting to feel tired, and he decided that it was time to leave. He announced it, and Bobby looked at him and said he was leaving too.
“Oh, come on, stay a bit more...” Joaquin begged. Carlos looking at him and, when Carlos was going to speak, Joaquin spoke again, imitating his mate's voice. “No, Joaquin, we have to get up early tomorrow, and you should leave too."
“Exactly” Carlos said. “Does anybody need a ride?”
“Can you take Joan home?” Santi asked him. Carlos was going to say 'no way.' He looked at Joan, completely drunk and talking to Bobby about how pretty life was and about how hot the guys were, but Joan heard it.
“Thissssss old guy issssss nnnnot... taking mmmmme home... I'mmmsscared...! What if he's gay too?” Joan said, trying to talk seriously. Then he started to laugh looking at Santi, as if it had logic, and it was fun.
“Shut up, Joan...” Santi said to his friend. “I came on a motorbike. Otherwise I would take him,” Santi almost begged.
Carlos would say no if it wasn't for Santi. Nobody could say no to Santi when the Asturian started to use those eyes and look at them as if he was a lonely guy. “Please? Carlos?”
“If he accepts, yes, I will," Carlos paused. Can he walk to the car?” Carlos asked, after a moment. Santi pulled Joan to his feet, and the Catalan almost fell. Carlos looked straight at Santi.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” Santi was murmuring. Carlos shook his head in signal of 'don't worry', and with a short "See ya tomorrow" he left the bar with Bobby.
“I don't like you, you old man...” Joan kept saying. Carlos sat him on the back of his car, and he took the driver's seat. He started to drive, and Joan kept talking “You are boooooring. I want to go hoooome. You are so boriiiiiiing. God only knows where you are taking me to....”
Carlos was trying not to leave him in the middle of the road because that would have been so mean.
“Shut up” Carlos told him. Joan started to laugh stupidly, and, thankfully, they were already close to Joan's home. Carlos parked the car, and got out of it to help Joan to get into his place. When he was going to help him, Joan said him something like 'you get your hands off me, pervert!” and started to laugh again. Carlos finally managed to take him, get his keys, and open his door.
“What are you doing in my house?” Joan asked him when they got in. Carlos sighed and closed the door behind him. He walked to the couch and left Joan there, but Joan took him by the arm. “What are you doiiiiiiiiiiiiiing?”
“I took you home because you are drunk. I am leaving now,” Carlos answered, knowing that it was useless to answer him. Joan didn't let him go.
“Sit heeeeeere,” Joan told him . Carlos shook his head and tried to get away from Joan's hand to go home. Joan was such a fucking kid. When Joan saw that Carlos wasn't going to sit down, he got up- or he tried to.
“Joan, sit down,” Carlos said. Joan hugged him.
“You're not that bad. You took me home,” Joan said. He smiled and lost control of his feet for a moment. Carlos helped him to not fall over, and Joan smiled again, putting a hand over Carlos' neck. “Hmmmm... here closer. You're not that bad."
“Joan, you are drunk, and you hate me,” Carlos tried to explain him. Joan nodded and, suddenly, he got closer and kissed Carlos. Carlos needed a moment of 'this is not happening' and 'fucking kid' until he finally had to let it go and kiss Joan back. Because, damn it, that was hot, and Joan's lips were doing something against Carlos's, and it was so different from anything else. It was a good sensation. His stomach was going crazy, and his hands were all over Joan's back. He could feeling Joan's hands all over his back. He didn't know what was happening until he thought twice about it, and then he stopped it.
“Joan,” he said, making Joan sit on the couch finally. Joan frowned, but the smiled a bit and lay back - preparing himself to sleep.
Joan was kissing him because he was drunk. But Carlos wasn't drunk. And that was a problem now for Carlos.
***
“You didn't practice,” Joan said to one of his students, one in the third course. He walked towards him on the stage. “I've told you since the first day that you all have to practice. And it's not just you. Go back to your seat,” Joan looked at the rest of the students in their seats. “None of you have practiced enough for this.”
The room stayed in silence for some seconds, with Joan looking at his students, until one of them was brave enough to speak.
“But Joan...” Matilla started to say. “Joan, we have the history presentations next week...”
“I don't care about what you have!” Joan said, very serious, but thinking about how much he hated Marchena. Again, again that man was the cause of his problems - as always. “Do it for next week. The class has finished,” Joan said.
He looked at the clock, and it was twenty minutes until his next class. He went to the teachers room and sat at a desk. He started to prepare the next lessons, and then Carlos came into the room.
“Morning” Carlos said.
Joan didn't even look at him. He was so upset, angry, and he just wanted Carlos to disappear.
“How is your hangover?” Carlos asked, sitting in another desk, not far from Joan, who wasn't answering. Joan felt Carlos was a bit... nervous? Why though?
“Joan?”
“What?!” Joan asked, in a loud tone.
“Oh, that's a yes.” Carlos murmured to himself, but Joan heard it.
“Yes to what?” Joan asked again.
“Yesterday? You remember?” Carlos asked. “You were so drunk that I didn't think you would, but I see you're upset, and I think that you do...”
“ What are you talking about? I am upset because, as always, you are fucking up my lessons! You're always the big problem here,” Joan said, standing up, taking his things and leaving the room. In the corridor he saw Joaquin and Santi. He looked and Santi called out, “Hey...”
“I'll see you later, guys” Joaquin said, going to the teachers room. Both nodded.
“Hey, you survived! Carlos did his work then,” Santi laughed. Joan frowned even more.
“What the fuck did Carlos do?!” Joan almost shouted. “That fucking idiot just said something about me not remembering, and, now, you say this!”
“He took you home even when you were insulting him? Nobody else had a car, and you needed a ride, so he did it,” Santi explained. “What happened? What don't you remember?”
“I don't know, Santi,” Joan sighed, frowning. He closed his eyes a moment, his head was really messing him up. When he did an image came to his mind. One of Carlos' face so close. So close. He opened his eyes, scared. “Fuck."
“What? You remembered?” Santi asked, with excitement about knowing but worried at the same time about his friend. Joan shook his head, lying. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't. He hated Carlos, and he couldn't explain anything. He knew what he had done. Now, he knew it. But he had to shut up.
During that time, in the teachers' room, Joaquin and Carlos had other problems - in fact, the same ones. Joaquin had asked Carlos about last night, and they had been talking about when Carlos left... with Joan.
“Nothing, I just drove him home.” Carlos said when Joaquin sat close to him to talk, as always.
“Just that?” Joaquin said, laughing. When he saw Carlos' serious face, he decided that jokes were off. “What?”
“Nothing, Joaquin. It's nothing” Carlos tried to convince him. Joaquin got closer and slid and arm over Carlos' shoulders.
“Come on, mate. You can tell me” Joaquin said, with a confident smile that helped Carlos to calm down a bit.
“It's about Joan” Carlos said. “About yesterday,” he said, looking away.
“ Did you... fu-?”
“NO!” Carlos cut Joaquin before the Sevillian finished. “He kissed me,” Carlos explained slowly. Joaquin's face was a dramatic poem. “He came on to me, yes. He was drunk, and when I saw what Joan wanted... I left.”
“He wanted more!” Joaquin exclaimed.
"Shhhhh! Lower!” Carlos begged, looking around. But the harm was done. An Asturian was listening behind the door while pretending not to - but he had heard it all.
****
“Hey” Santi said when he saw that Joan was about to take his motorbike on his way home. “Can we talk?”
“What about?” Joan asked with that expression that said 'yeah, I don't feel like talking, I have a secret right now.'
“About friends who tell each other the truth and other similar matters,” Santi explained with a fake smile. Then he frowned. “We are going to talk or I am shouting right here my question, you stupid man”.
Joan looked at him for a while, not saying anything, and it was a worried look. He thought about it for a few seconds, then he looked at his motorbike regretfully before he nodded. “Okay, we are going to the bar, and I may tell you about it."
“You may?” Santi excaimed. “You will, oh, of course you will.”
They went to the bar, and Joan explained what he remembered. He just had images in his head. Images of Carlos very close to him and the feeling of Carlos' lips against his. He, of course, didn't give as many details, or not as many as Santi wanted, but Santi could see in his eyes that Joan was lying when he said, "It was just a kiss, and I was drunk. That means it didn't matter." Santi could see those things in Joan, they had been friends long enough.
But Santi didn't say it because he knew how Joan was, and he knew that if Joan didn't want to say it, he wouldn't, and that was the end of the whole story. Or maybe not. Maybe Santi could do... something.
He was looking at his friend and feeling pity. He was seeing in Joan's eyes a clear and shiny 'I would have loved it to be more,' and he wanted his friend to be happy - just that. But he didn't know what to do: Carlos seemed to hate Joan. But Carlos didn't push away the kiss because he didn't like it. He did it because Joan was drunk. What if Joan hadn't been drunk? Should he tell Joan what he has heard? That Carlos really cared about what has happened?
“Anyway, how did you know that something happened?” Joan asked.
“Because I am your friend?” Santi asked, trying to seem like that was the only answer.
“Santi...” Joan insisted.
Santi looked away. If he told Joan that he had heard it from Carlos what would Joan do? Would Joan hide more? Would Joan talk to Carlos? Would Carlos be angry with Santi because of hearing a private conversation? He didn't even know how Carlos would react. He couldn't tell Joan.
“I will just tell you," Santi paused, "you should talk to him.” Santi stopped, letting Joan know that he really wouldn't say anything else.
“It was just a kiss,” Joan insisted. He knew that it wasn't the truth. He knew Santi knew that it wasn't the truth. It was just easier to lie than to tell the truth. It was so much easier to pretend that nothing was happening there. It was easier to pretend he hated Carlos than to show what Carlos meant to him, what Carlos had meant to him from the start. He and Santi remained in silence some seconds as Santi figured out what to say.
“It doesn't have to end like the last time, Joan,” Santi said.
Joan went suddenly pale, without words. Santi stood up and left the bar, after paying for his drink. Joan stayed there for a few more minutes, thinking. Santi was right. It didn't have to end like the last time. But he was scared - even when he wasn't going to admit that not in a million years. But he was so scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared of being left alone again. Scared of not being able to get over it again. Scared of being broken again.
He didn't want to live through that again. He couldn't live through that again.
Especially when Carlos seemed like a serious guy. Joan couldn't understand how he could like such a serious and boring guy. He was scared of letting someone look inside him that much.
Santi was his friend, and not even he was able to read inside him. Joan closed himself years ago, and he'd never been able to open himself again. Never. Everything was easy because Carlos hated him, and Joan hated him back, and everything was good, everything was easy, everything was perfect. But that kiss had changed lots of things.
Because it had been just a kiss, right?
He had assumed it was. He should have asked Santi if he knew anything else. Now, he wasn't sure. He was so drunk, and when he got up he was inside his bed with his pyjamas on. It had been just a kiss, right? Not... anything else?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now, he was worried. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember, and he just found a headache.
“You won't move the beer with your mind, Joan,” he heard Gonzalo's voice. He was cleaning some tables, but the bar was almost empty. So, he sat in Joan's table.
“Headache,” Joan fibbed.
“Yeah, sure...” Gonzalo smiled, not believing him. “I saw Santi leaving. He looked serious,” Gonzalo explained. He waited.
“I saw Bobby. He looked serious too,” Joan attacked back.
“Oh, that's not fair.” Gonzalo tried to keep smiling. “So, you noticed."
“All the school noticed” Joan explained, which was true. The entire school had noticed the looks between Gonzalo and Bobby, the moments where they both talked with silly smiles, the moments where Gonzalo was flirting with other guys and Bobby was frowning, and way back, even when Bobby never flirted with other guys, the 'how he dare to look at them like that?' looks from Gonzalo. It was really easy to notice them, and everybody knew... except them. “But you two are too stupid to do anything about it”.
“You two?” Gonzalo asked.
“What do you mean by 'you two'? It's pretty clear that he's not interested." Gonzalo explained, convinced about what he was saying.
“He's not...?” Joan couldn't believe what he had heard. “Gonzalo, you are stupid,” Joan simply said. Gonzalo opened his eyes in surprise. Joan left the money on the table and left the bar. Gonzalo just stayed there, thinking. So Bobby was really interested? But come on! Joan couldn't be right.
That night, Joan wasn't able to sleep. He had been acting normally all the afternoon and evening. Okay, maybe he had been a bit lost, thinking a bit too much; but it had been a normal day. But now he couldn't sleep: he couldn't stop thinking about Carlos, and that kiss, that maybe more than a kiss, that memory that wasn't clear in his mind.
“What should I do then?” Joan asked Santi when he called.
“Joan, have you fucking seen the God damn fucking clock?” Santi asked instead. Two o'clock. In the morning. But Joan wasn't really sleeping. He couldn't sleep. He was thinking, thinking, thinking.
“Yes, Santi, I have seen the clock. But now I don't even know what happened,” Joan tried to explain. “I don't know, and I don't know if I should do it. Do you know what I mean?”
“No” Santi said. “I don't understand you. I want to sleep,” Santi replied, whining.
“Should I go and talk to him?” Joan asked, desperate.
“Yes, yes, go” Santi begged. In any other moment, he might have said 'No, Joan, it's late. It would be better to go tomorrow at a more reasonable time. Don't you think so?' But Santi wanted to sleep. He looked at the warm body sleeping by his side, a quiet voice asking "Who is it?", and just hoped Joan would do as he was told.
“Okay, then. Thank you. You are a good friend, Santi,” Joan said. He hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and keys, and got into his car.
What was he doing?
He didn't even know. He just was following his instincts. Just as he had always done. Some people thought that he acted like a teenager, that he never behaved like grown-up; maybe they were right, maybe he should grow up: but not tonight. He was on his way to Carlos' house at 2:17 in the morning.
When he finally arrived, he stopped in front of Carlos' house. He thought about it for a while, and the next time he looked his clock it was 2.31 in the morning.
He finally rang the doorbell, and in that moment he realized about what was he doing. He thought about leaving, but he was too slow. When he was turning to leave, Carlos opened his door.
“Joan?” Carlos asked. Joan looked at him, confused. “Come in, it's cold out there,” Carlos said. Joan looked at Carlos before walking in. The man was wearing an old shirt and shorts and just that. He decided not to go in right now. He was good standing outside of the house. It was cold, sure, but the cold helped him to think.
“It was just a kiss, right?” Joan asked. Carlos looked at him confused, but Joan kept the serious look.
Carlos Marchena looked at everyone's faces. They were making the presentation of the new course. The director, Pellegrini, was talking to the new students of the theater academy - the most important one in the country-- and all the teachers had to be there, sitting and looking at the student's faces. There was Joaquin, the backstage teacher. His job was to teach the students how to control lights, decorations, and everything else. There was Bobby, the Musical Theater teacher, and by his side was Santi, the Theater in Literature teacher. Finally, by Santi's side was his best friend, Joan Capdevila, the drama teacher. There he was! Standing next to Santi; that... stupid, to be kind and respectful, man. But, seriously! He was a stupid man.
“How can the director speak this much?” Santi asked Joan in a whisper. Marchena frowned and tried to focus on the students when Joan, the stupid man, started to laugh. In front of all of new kids, still full of illusion.
Poor kids. Not even a quarter of them were going to finish the four courses - Carlos knew it well. It wasn't easy. Of course, it wasn't. Of those less than twenty-five students that were going to make it to the last course, and just one or two would be able to live from working in the theater. But that was why they were the best ones. Because they had one or two every year. Most schools had one or two every decade.
“... And good luck. Now go to your rooms and start to get used to the rules of the Academy, or go back home. If you stay, be here tomorrow at the right time to start,” the director finished. There was a light ovation, and then students started to leave in little groups. Pellegrini looked at them.
“Prepared for the new course? Oh of course you are. See you all tomorrow,” he left the theater of the school, the place the speech was held every year, and when he left Joaquin got up.
“Do you want to go out for a beer?” Joaquin asked, walking to Carlos. “Come on! You need it, you old boring man”
“Yeah, mate, that really helps to make me want to go out,” Carlos answered, faking a smile. Joaquin slide an arm over his shoulders.
“You are coming anyway,” Joaquin said. Carlos shrugged but nodded.
“Okay then.” Carlos answered.
They ended up in a bar close to the Academy, all of them together, and they saw that Gonzalo was there, with a guy. When Joan and Santi saw it, both of them looked to Bobby, worried. Bobby was looking at Gonzalo, frowning, but he didn't say anything. He just murmured something and went to the bathroom.
“He should talk to him” Santi said when Bobby was gone.
“What for? Gonza is a... free guy,” Joan started to say. “He seems interested in Bo, all of us know that-”
“Except him...” Santi interrupted.
“Okay, except Bobby himself, but even with that, we all know that Bobby wants more than just a fuck from time to time,” Joan finished as the waiter arrived to the table. When they had asked for some drinks-- and something for Bobby, they all knew what the French liked-- Joaquin looked at Joan.
“But has Bobby told you about it?” Joaquin asked, with a surprised expression in his face. Joan and Santi laughed.
“Of course not!” Santi said “But it's pretty clear. All day is 'Gonza this, Gonza that, Gonza Gonza Gonza...' and... you all know how he is. He's one of those men that need a dinner before a good trip to bed...” Santi explained. Then Bobby came back to the table.
“Hey Bo, is everything alright?”
“Sure, have you ordered?”
“Yeah, we got for a beer for you. That's okay?” Joan asked.
“Perfect,” Bobby answered. They started to have a trivial conversation about Joaquin's new car. It ended up as a conversation about the shitty motorbike that Santi bought with Joaquin offering himself for repairing it and making 'a few changes to make it better and cool-ya-know-mate.'
During their conversation, Bobby was looking at Gonzalo once every few seconds. And Carlos was constantly looking at Joan.
But he was looking at Joan thinking “Oh fuck! I hate you.”
He was thinking that. He didn't like the guy at all. He gave difficulties to his classes, because he thought “the history takes so much study time and my guys can't practice my subject.” But Joan was just a man that didn't know how to grow up.
To be fair, Carlos was close to the forties, and Joan was just a little into his thirties, but that didn't make a difference. Joan was, psychologically, just a kid. Santi, his best friend, seemed to be the same. The difference was, when the situation was important, Santi knew to stop and act like an adult. But Carlos had never seen Joan acting like an adult.
Well, as an actor and a professional, yes. But never in the theater of the real life.
After a few drinks Carlos was starting to feel tired, and he decided that it was time to leave. He announced it, and Bobby looked at him and said he was leaving too.
“Oh, come on, stay a bit more...” Joaquin begged. Carlos looking at him and, when Carlos was going to speak, Joaquin spoke again, imitating his mate's voice. “No, Joaquin, we have to get up early tomorrow, and you should leave too."
“Exactly” Carlos said. “Does anybody need a ride?”
“Can you take Joan home?” Santi asked him. Carlos was going to say 'no way.' He looked at Joan, completely drunk and talking to Bobby about how pretty life was and about how hot the guys were, but Joan heard it.
“Thissssss old guy issssss nnnnot... taking mmmmme home... I'mmmsscared...! What if he's gay too?” Joan said, trying to talk seriously. Then he started to laugh looking at Santi, as if it had logic, and it was fun.
“Shut up, Joan...” Santi said to his friend. “I came on a motorbike. Otherwise I would take him,” Santi almost begged.
Carlos would say no if it wasn't for Santi. Nobody could say no to Santi when the Asturian started to use those eyes and look at them as if he was a lonely guy. “Please? Carlos?”
“If he accepts, yes, I will," Carlos paused. Can he walk to the car?” Carlos asked, after a moment. Santi pulled Joan to his feet, and the Catalan almost fell. Carlos looked straight at Santi.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry...” Santi was murmuring. Carlos shook his head in signal of 'don't worry', and with a short "See ya tomorrow" he left the bar with Bobby.
“I don't like you, you old man...” Joan kept saying. Carlos sat him on the back of his car, and he took the driver's seat. He started to drive, and Joan kept talking “You are boooooring. I want to go hoooome. You are so boriiiiiiing. God only knows where you are taking me to....”
Carlos was trying not to leave him in the middle of the road because that would have been so mean.
“Shut up” Carlos told him. Joan started to laugh stupidly, and, thankfully, they were already close to Joan's home. Carlos parked the car, and got out of it to help Joan to get into his place. When he was going to help him, Joan said him something like 'you get your hands off me, pervert!” and started to laugh again. Carlos finally managed to take him, get his keys, and open his door.
“What are you doing in my house?” Joan asked him when they got in. Carlos sighed and closed the door behind him. He walked to the couch and left Joan there, but Joan took him by the arm. “What are you doiiiiiiiiiiiiiing?”
“I took you home because you are drunk. I am leaving now,” Carlos answered, knowing that it was useless to answer him. Joan didn't let him go.
“Sit heeeeeere,” Joan told him . Carlos shook his head and tried to get away from Joan's hand to go home. Joan was such a fucking kid. When Joan saw that Carlos wasn't going to sit down, he got up- or he tried to.
“Joan, sit down,” Carlos said. Joan hugged him.
“You're not that bad. You took me home,” Joan said. He smiled and lost control of his feet for a moment. Carlos helped him to not fall over, and Joan smiled again, putting a hand over Carlos' neck. “Hmmmm... here closer. You're not that bad."
“Joan, you are drunk, and you hate me,” Carlos tried to explain him. Joan nodded and, suddenly, he got closer and kissed Carlos. Carlos needed a moment of 'this is not happening' and 'fucking kid' until he finally had to let it go and kiss Joan back. Because, damn it, that was hot, and Joan's lips were doing something against Carlos's, and it was so different from anything else. It was a good sensation. His stomach was going crazy, and his hands were all over Joan's back. He could feeling Joan's hands all over his back. He didn't know what was happening until he thought twice about it, and then he stopped it.
“Joan,” he said, making Joan sit on the couch finally. Joan frowned, but the smiled a bit and lay back - preparing himself to sleep.
Joan was kissing him because he was drunk. But Carlos wasn't drunk. And that was a problem now for Carlos.
***
“You didn't practice,” Joan said to one of his students, one in the third course. He walked towards him on the stage. “I've told you since the first day that you all have to practice. And it's not just you. Go back to your seat,” Joan looked at the rest of the students in their seats. “None of you have practiced enough for this.”
The room stayed in silence for some seconds, with Joan looking at his students, until one of them was brave enough to speak.
“But Joan...” Matilla started to say. “Joan, we have the history presentations next week...”
“I don't care about what you have!” Joan said, very serious, but thinking about how much he hated Marchena. Again, again that man was the cause of his problems - as always. “Do it for next week. The class has finished,” Joan said.
He looked at the clock, and it was twenty minutes until his next class. He went to the teachers room and sat at a desk. He started to prepare the next lessons, and then Carlos came into the room.
“Morning” Carlos said.
Joan didn't even look at him. He was so upset, angry, and he just wanted Carlos to disappear.
“How is your hangover?” Carlos asked, sitting in another desk, not far from Joan, who wasn't answering. Joan felt Carlos was a bit... nervous? Why though?
“Joan?”
“What?!” Joan asked, in a loud tone.
“Oh, that's a yes.” Carlos murmured to himself, but Joan heard it.
“Yes to what?” Joan asked again.
“Yesterday? You remember?” Carlos asked. “You were so drunk that I didn't think you would, but I see you're upset, and I think that you do...”
“ What are you talking about? I am upset because, as always, you are fucking up my lessons! You're always the big problem here,” Joan said, standing up, taking his things and leaving the room. In the corridor he saw Joaquin and Santi. He looked and Santi called out, “Hey...”
“I'll see you later, guys” Joaquin said, going to the teachers room. Both nodded.
“Hey, you survived! Carlos did his work then,” Santi laughed. Joan frowned even more.
“What the fuck did Carlos do?!” Joan almost shouted. “That fucking idiot just said something about me not remembering, and, now, you say this!”
“He took you home even when you were insulting him? Nobody else had a car, and you needed a ride, so he did it,” Santi explained. “What happened? What don't you remember?”
“I don't know, Santi,” Joan sighed, frowning. He closed his eyes a moment, his head was really messing him up. When he did an image came to his mind. One of Carlos' face so close. So close. He opened his eyes, scared. “Fuck."
“What? You remembered?” Santi asked, with excitement about knowing but worried at the same time about his friend. Joan shook his head, lying. He couldn't explain it. He couldn't. He hated Carlos, and he couldn't explain anything. He knew what he had done. Now, he knew it. But he had to shut up.
During that time, in the teachers' room, Joaquin and Carlos had other problems - in fact, the same ones. Joaquin had asked Carlos about last night, and they had been talking about when Carlos left... with Joan.
“Nothing, I just drove him home.” Carlos said when Joaquin sat close to him to talk, as always.
“Just that?” Joaquin said, laughing. When he saw Carlos' serious face, he decided that jokes were off. “What?”
“Nothing, Joaquin. It's nothing” Carlos tried to convince him. Joaquin got closer and slid and arm over Carlos' shoulders.
“Come on, mate. You can tell me” Joaquin said, with a confident smile that helped Carlos to calm down a bit.
“It's about Joan” Carlos said. “About yesterday,” he said, looking away.
“ Did you... fu-?”
“NO!” Carlos cut Joaquin before the Sevillian finished. “He kissed me,” Carlos explained slowly. Joaquin's face was a dramatic poem. “He came on to me, yes. He was drunk, and when I saw what Joan wanted... I left.”
“He wanted more!” Joaquin exclaimed.
"Shhhhh! Lower!” Carlos begged, looking around. But the harm was done. An Asturian was listening behind the door while pretending not to - but he had heard it all.
****
“Hey” Santi said when he saw that Joan was about to take his motorbike on his way home. “Can we talk?”
“What about?” Joan asked with that expression that said 'yeah, I don't feel like talking, I have a secret right now.'
“About friends who tell each other the truth and other similar matters,” Santi explained with a fake smile. Then he frowned. “We are going to talk or I am shouting right here my question, you stupid man”.
Joan looked at him for a while, not saying anything, and it was a worried look. He thought about it for a few seconds, then he looked at his motorbike regretfully before he nodded. “Okay, we are going to the bar, and I may tell you about it."
“You may?” Santi excaimed. “You will, oh, of course you will.”
They went to the bar, and Joan explained what he remembered. He just had images in his head. Images of Carlos very close to him and the feeling of Carlos' lips against his. He, of course, didn't give as many details, or not as many as Santi wanted, but Santi could see in his eyes that Joan was lying when he said, "It was just a kiss, and I was drunk. That means it didn't matter." Santi could see those things in Joan, they had been friends long enough.
But Santi didn't say it because he knew how Joan was, and he knew that if Joan didn't want to say it, he wouldn't, and that was the end of the whole story. Or maybe not. Maybe Santi could do... something.
He was looking at his friend and feeling pity. He was seeing in Joan's eyes a clear and shiny 'I would have loved it to be more,' and he wanted his friend to be happy - just that. But he didn't know what to do: Carlos seemed to hate Joan. But Carlos didn't push away the kiss because he didn't like it. He did it because Joan was drunk. What if Joan hadn't been drunk? Should he tell Joan what he has heard? That Carlos really cared about what has happened?
“Anyway, how did you know that something happened?” Joan asked.
“Because I am your friend?” Santi asked, trying to seem like that was the only answer.
“Santi...” Joan insisted.
Santi looked away. If he told Joan that he had heard it from Carlos what would Joan do? Would Joan hide more? Would Joan talk to Carlos? Would Carlos be angry with Santi because of hearing a private conversation? He didn't even know how Carlos would react. He couldn't tell Joan.
“I will just tell you," Santi paused, "you should talk to him.” Santi stopped, letting Joan know that he really wouldn't say anything else.
“It was just a kiss,” Joan insisted. He knew that it wasn't the truth. He knew Santi knew that it wasn't the truth. It was just easier to lie than to tell the truth. It was so much easier to pretend that nothing was happening there. It was easier to pretend he hated Carlos than to show what Carlos meant to him, what Carlos had meant to him from the start. He and Santi remained in silence some seconds as Santi figured out what to say.
“It doesn't have to end like the last time, Joan,” Santi said.
Joan went suddenly pale, without words. Santi stood up and left the bar, after paying for his drink. Joan stayed there for a few more minutes, thinking. Santi was right. It didn't have to end like the last time. But he was scared - even when he wasn't going to admit that not in a million years. But he was so scared. Scared of being hurt again. Scared of being left alone again. Scared of not being able to get over it again. Scared of being broken again.
He didn't want to live through that again. He couldn't live through that again.
Especially when Carlos seemed like a serious guy. Joan couldn't understand how he could like such a serious and boring guy. He was scared of letting someone look inside him that much.
Santi was his friend, and not even he was able to read inside him. Joan closed himself years ago, and he'd never been able to open himself again. Never. Everything was easy because Carlos hated him, and Joan hated him back, and everything was good, everything was easy, everything was perfect. But that kiss had changed lots of things.
Because it had been just a kiss, right?
He had assumed it was. He should have asked Santi if he knew anything else. Now, he wasn't sure. He was so drunk, and when he got up he was inside his bed with his pyjamas on. It had been just a kiss, right? Not... anything else?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now, he was worried. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to remember, and he just found a headache.
“You won't move the beer with your mind, Joan,” he heard Gonzalo's voice. He was cleaning some tables, but the bar was almost empty. So, he sat in Joan's table.
“Headache,” Joan fibbed.
“Yeah, sure...” Gonzalo smiled, not believing him. “I saw Santi leaving. He looked serious,” Gonzalo explained. He waited.
“I saw Bobby. He looked serious too,” Joan attacked back.
“Oh, that's not fair.” Gonzalo tried to keep smiling. “So, you noticed."
“All the school noticed” Joan explained, which was true. The entire school had noticed the looks between Gonzalo and Bobby, the moments where they both talked with silly smiles, the moments where Gonzalo was flirting with other guys and Bobby was frowning, and way back, even when Bobby never flirted with other guys, the 'how he dare to look at them like that?' looks from Gonzalo. It was really easy to notice them, and everybody knew... except them. “But you two are too stupid to do anything about it”.
“You two?” Gonzalo asked.
“What do you mean by 'you two'? It's pretty clear that he's not interested." Gonzalo explained, convinced about what he was saying.
“He's not...?” Joan couldn't believe what he had heard. “Gonzalo, you are stupid,” Joan simply said. Gonzalo opened his eyes in surprise. Joan left the money on the table and left the bar. Gonzalo just stayed there, thinking. So Bobby was really interested? But come on! Joan couldn't be right.
That night, Joan wasn't able to sleep. He had been acting normally all the afternoon and evening. Okay, maybe he had been a bit lost, thinking a bit too much; but it had been a normal day. But now he couldn't sleep: he couldn't stop thinking about Carlos, and that kiss, that maybe more than a kiss, that memory that wasn't clear in his mind.
“What should I do then?” Joan asked Santi when he called.
“Joan, have you fucking seen the God damn fucking clock?” Santi asked instead. Two o'clock. In the morning. But Joan wasn't really sleeping. He couldn't sleep. He was thinking, thinking, thinking.
“Yes, Santi, I have seen the clock. But now I don't even know what happened,” Joan tried to explain. “I don't know, and I don't know if I should do it. Do you know what I mean?”
“No” Santi said. “I don't understand you. I want to sleep,” Santi replied, whining.
“Should I go and talk to him?” Joan asked, desperate.
“Yes, yes, go” Santi begged. In any other moment, he might have said 'No, Joan, it's late. It would be better to go tomorrow at a more reasonable time. Don't you think so?' But Santi wanted to sleep. He looked at the warm body sleeping by his side, a quiet voice asking "Who is it?", and just hoped Joan would do as he was told.
“Okay, then. Thank you. You are a good friend, Santi,” Joan said. He hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket and keys, and got into his car.
What was he doing?
He didn't even know. He just was following his instincts. Just as he had always done. Some people thought that he acted like a teenager, that he never behaved like grown-up; maybe they were right, maybe he should grow up: but not tonight. He was on his way to Carlos' house at 2:17 in the morning.
When he finally arrived, he stopped in front of Carlos' house. He thought about it for a while, and the next time he looked his clock it was 2.31 in the morning.
He finally rang the doorbell, and in that moment he realized about what was he doing. He thought about leaving, but he was too slow. When he was turning to leave, Carlos opened his door.
“Joan?” Carlos asked. Joan looked at him, confused. “Come in, it's cold out there,” Carlos said. Joan looked at Carlos before walking in. The man was wearing an old shirt and shorts and just that. He decided not to go in right now. He was good standing outside of the house. It was cold, sure, but the cold helped him to think.
“It was just a kiss, right?” Joan asked. Carlos looked at him confused, but Joan kept the serious look.