As soon as I stepped into the studio apartment, the anxiety hit me all at once. It was the first time we were going to be alone there after everything that had happened.
And my mind went way too far, way too fast. I had to stop my own thoughts before they swallowed me whole.
I took a deep breath and decided to keep my mind busy: brigadeiro.
— At least this I know how to make — I murmured to myself.
I grabbed the butter, cocoa powder, condensed milk. I stirred everything in the pan as if I were stirring the anxiety too. The smell filled the apartment, sweet, warm, comforting.
It was almost silly to feel happy about finally using the groceries I'd bought online… but I knew who I'd bought them for. For him, for the "us" I had almost believed we would never be.
I turned off the heat, let the pan cool a little, and went straight to the shower.
The hot water helped, but not enough.
I stepped out with my hair dripping and that feeling that my heart was beating where it shouldn't. I put on denim shorts and a simple black T-shirt. I stared at my reflection for a few seconds.
— Is this too simple? — I asked softly.
I decided I wasn't going to invent a new version of myself for Rafael. He had already seen my broken parts. I wanted him to keep seeing the real me.
I let my hair down and, the moment the wet ends fell against my back, I heard three light knocks on the door.
I ran—literally ran—to the door and turned the knob with my hand still a little wet.
And there he was.
Standing there. Breathing a little too slowly, like he'd walked at the most calculated pace in the world just to avoid looking anxious. Pale skin, a simple white T-shirt, dark blue shorts… and that black hair falling slightly over his forehead.
I had seen Rafael like that so many times… but I just… couldn't get used to him. There was always a shiver, always something inside me trembling, like it was the first time… every time.
— Hi — I said.
His eyes dropped briefly to my wet hair.
— Hi.
I stepped aside and nodded for him to come in.Rafael walked past me with his usual posture, steady, calm, but I could see the quiet tension he was trying to hide. His hands trembled a little, his breathing was deeper than normal.I wanted to help him—or maybe help myself.
— I… made brigadeiro — I said too fast. — And I picked the series. I hope you like it. We can make popcorn first, or after, or—
I was talking too much. Too fast.
He took a step toward me, silent, steady and hesitant at the same time… a paradox only he could be.
When he got close, he slowly lifted his hand and fixed the strand of hair that had fallen over my face, tucking it behind my ear with such gentleness that my cheeks burned instantly.
His eyes lifted to mine, steady… but not steady enough to hide what was underneath: he was tense too. He was feeling it too.
— Calm down — he murmured, simple, almost a whisper. — You don't need to rush.
I wanted to say it was easy for him to say when he looked ready to explode with anxiety himself, but all I could do was breathe… slowly, as if his touch had put my air back where it belonged.
— I am calm — I replied, even though I wasn't.
Rafael went over to the couch, and the TV was paused on the opening of the first episode. I'd spent a good few minutes choosing that series, with no idea whether he liked action or suspense. It was just what I wanted to watch, and deep down I hoped our tastes would meet somewhere.
He looked at the TV, then crossed his arms, and I saw the corner of his mouth lift—almost a smile.
— I've been wanting to start this series for a while, but… — he looked straight at me, as if finishing the sentence with me — the last few weeks have been a bit hectic.
My stomach flipped. Of course he was lightly blaming me, and I loved every second of it.
I let out a relieved, silly sigh.
— I'm glad you like it — I said. — I really wanted to start it.
He just nodded, discreet.
— I'll make popcorn — I announced, trying to keep my voice normal. — I'll be right back to the couch.
— Okay — he said.
— Are you sure the landlord didn't see you come up? — I asked more to make conversation than out of real concern.
Rafael made a face like someone who had already calculated that risk three times.
— I'm sure. He turns on the TV in his room and doesn't last five minutes. Sleeps like a rock.
I laughed.
— I envy him.
I made the popcorn as fast as I could, like time had learned to run differently inside me. When I came back, I sat beside him on the couch—not pressed against him, not too far. Exactly in the space that felt safe.I held out the popcorn bowl to him.
Rafael took it without hurry… and as he did, he shifted just a little. Just enough for the side of his leg to brush lightly against mine.
It wasn't a full touch. It was that almost-accidental kind.
The kind that makes your heart lose its rhythm… precisely because it's so little.
The series started, and I tried—honestly, I tried—to pay attention.But Rafael there, so close, seemed to occupy all my senses. His breathing, the faint scent of his cologne… everything stole the focus I was supposed to give the screen.
He, of course, seemed focused—or pretended very well.
Every now and then, our hands met inside the popcorn bowl. A quick, almost technical touch, like neither of us wanted to admit it had happened. But it did, and every brush sent a shiver up my spine.
Even so, little by little, I got pulled into the story. The mystery of the series drew me in until I finally stopped fighting the anxiety. It was just the two of us there, sharing a quiet that was too good to be invented.
Until the suspense scene came. A loud noise, a sudden cut, music far too tense.
And I, completely caught off guard, jumped on the couch.
I looked to the side, heart racing. Rafael was looking at me, smiling.
— You don't have the maturity to watch this — he muttered, still smiling.
— I do too — I shot back immediately, annoyed at myself for jumping like that.
I kept complaining, trying to save my dignity… and that was exactly when Rafael reached out and hooked his finger firmly into the belt loop of my shorts. Before I could understand anything, he pulled me closer in one smooth motion.
My body pressed against his with absurd precision, his arm slid over my shoulders, and he went back to watching the TV like nothing had happened. Like it was the most normal gesture in the world.
The truth? I melted.
It wasn't dramatic, it wasn't cinematic. It was just… my body recognizing his.
We stayed like that until the episode ended. I swore I'd be electric, nervous, full of chaotic thoughts from being so close to him… but no. What came instead was a calm, warm comfort, too familiar to make sense. It felt like… home.
When the screen went dark, Rafael grabbed his phone, checked the time, and frowned.
— So? — he asked, like he already knew the answer. — What do you think? If I don't go now, you won't wake up for class tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes.
— I'm not a child.
He laughed… a short, muffled laugh, like he was trying to hold it back.
He stood up from the couch and I complained:
— You didn't even get to try the brigadeiro.
I went straight to the fridge, grabbed the pan, leaned against the counter, and scooped some up with a spoon. I tasted it, annoyed.
— See? — I said, pointing the spoon at him. — You didn't even try it.
He came closer. Not slow, but not too fast either. Just… determined.
He stopped very close.
— I'll try it — he said, his voice low.
And before I could understand how, his hand was already on my waist, firm, the kind that scrambles any logical thought.
His other hand slid up to the back of my neck.
Then he gently pulled my face toward his.
A soft, deliberate peck… almost cruel in how gentle it was.
He looked at me like he was deciding something… and decided.
His mouth came back to mine—this time for real. And my legs simply gave in.
The hand at my waist turned into a full arm holding me, like he already knew I was about to collapse right there. I leaned into him without thinking. I just felt… everything.
When he pulled back slightly, his breathing was as shaky as mine.
— I… should go downstairs — he murmured, barely able to look at me.
And for a moment, I was absolutely sure:if he hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have had the strength to ask him to stop… or to leave.