[Paul's Apartment; Compass by The Neighbourhood]

TWO:: when you realize you're a little broken.

Something about walking through parking decks at night had always terrified me. I tried to tell myself that this fear had started long before my traumas, maybe around the time we'd gotten our first apartment and I realized that Landon and Brandon weren't so tough.

When I got home a bit too late, I'd park as close as possible to the exit of the deck before walking out on the street and back through the entrance of my apartment building. This was something I never compromised on and maybe it was completely ridiculous.

If Pete noticed he didn't say anything but from the look in his eyes, he definitely saw the shift in body language. I could always feel myself getting nervous now and I hated it, my palms would sweat if a larger man was too close to me, I'd inch further away and scan the room for other, less-threatening places to stand.

I was always on alert and because of that, avoided stairwells and clubs alone, I told myself that it wouldn't always be this way.

I'd gotten out the car first, Peter lagging behind and with trembling fingers, I'd accidentally locked him in.

Biting at my lip when he'd furrowed his brow at me, I offered a laugh that probably lasted a bit too long, re-locking the car and waiting for him to round it so we could exit. It was cold and I kept my keys in my hand, driver's key held tightly between my index and middle. Opening the gate, I held it for him to walk through, duffle on his shoulder.

And the wind nipped at my skin, the chill sinking in through thin material, I tightened my coat around me. When he looked over, i busied myself by pulling my phone out my pocket so he'd be less inclined to inquire about my weird habit. I led him through the halls and to the only elevator in the building.

The hallways in my building contrasted so much from the modern apartments and the outside, it almost felt rustic, like every wall had a story and maybe that was just because the landlord was awfully lazy.

The elevator was new though, we had all new, modern appliances and the brick exterior fit perfectly into Little Italy. But the crown molding— it felt a bit different, like it had character, I was always a sucker for the details. Curling around the edge of white walls a slab of brick on an opposing wall, Pete followed me through hallways with high ceilings and overhead lights.

There was some aging that played a big part in what intrigued me to look at the place. Maybe the history had a ton to do with my early infatuation.

I liked things a bit damaged, I decided.

A roasted tomato smell loomed in the quaint apartment, Amy Winehouse playing. Isaiah bustled around the kitchen island, spicing whatever dish he was preparing, stopping when I'd walked in. It was like he was waiting for me, pretending to be busier than he actually was and I tried to hide my sigh.

His toffee colored eyes were wide, muscled body slowing as he got to me. In fluid movements, he was wiping wet hands on the apron that he'd gotten so much use of since we'd upgraded to a full kitchen.

He was a mutual friend in college, a photography major that my other roommates would hand out with and they'd bring him over. I'd somehow forgotten I'd known him then, only noticing in passing how attractive he was.

Or maybe I told myself that in order to not feel guilty, my subconscious had wiped away all memory of him because I didn't want to tell Jules at first. And I would have to tell Jules first before he found out from someone else; I didn't get the chance to. Part of me knew he'd pull away.

I wasn't supposed to find other people attractive, I wouldn't once I fell in love. That was one thing I was sure my grandmother had lied about and maybe it had a little to do with why I'd been so wrapped up in love. I hadn't felt it as strong as I did then.

Love, it was weird and painful and maybe I was a bit more damaged than before.

I'd stifled a smile at the 6'5 man wearing a 'kiss the cook,' pink apron and it looked kind of funny against a tight white tee, muscled protruding decorated with dark ink, he had full sleeves and I hated to admit how much more attractive that made him.

I liked nose rings, Isaiah had a double nose ring on the right side of his nose and diamond earrings. He always wore a headband pushing back tight curly hair and puffy yeezy slippers in the apartment and he had flour on his face.

He'd grimaced softly with furrowed brows before glancing at the boy behind me, tensing up, and he went to wipe his face with his clean hand as if he knew he had something on it. Izzy was also never good at hiding his feelings. He hated meeting new people -said he had a little undiagnosed social-anxiety- and gave that explanation to say he hated when I brought people home without warning him.

Explained why my hook-ups stayed few and far between and his silent-treatment, little friendship two week hiatus after he'd crashed into Julian.

He must've not cared much this time, probably cause my brother was far too young for him to suspect anything non-familial, or maybe his overwhelming sense of empathy took precedence because he was looking back at me, tilting his head and Isaiah always made direct eye contact with me.

Something about that always put me on edge.

Instead of paying much attention to the hopeful look on my roommate's face, I gestured for Pete to hand off his duffle, tossing it onto the couch and I watched as Isaiah grimaced.

Another thing about living with him, it always felt like I was living with my mother. He was so particular about where he wanted things and how he wanted them, he was so tightly-wound, it made me feel messy. It would've been annoying if our common spaces were a bit more common.

I was chaotic, I would walk around in large, paint-covered t-shirts with a palette in hand, adding to the one or two paintings that hung on the wall and the paintings that lingered around. Most stayed unfinished, leant against the walls on tarp, because hanging them up somehow made me feel exposed. No one I'd ever lived with hated clutter as much as Isaiah.

And he lived on the other side of the apartment... it was big for the rent, our living room was the size of both our bedrooms combined and our kitchen sat behind an island. We each had our own bathrooms so ideally, he wouldn't share so much of my life. Ideally. Except he did and it was getting harder to draw a line between us, maybe that was the reason for the tension.

I didn't want another relationship and that's what it felt like I was falling into. What else could you call living together, eating together, sleeping together, and spending almost everyday with each other?

Pete's look over at me was calculating, some weird look in his eyes and I knew he was sensing some tension.

My last in-person conversation with Abuelita ran through my head, her hand under my chin and pulling me to look at her. She could sense something was off, she always could and I'd explained that Julian had come into town, and I didn't know what that meant, and his sister had invited me to eat with them and-

And she'd given me wise-eyes and a wistful smile, drifting off about the many times her and Abuelo had broken up when she was a girl, and how that didn't mean much because even when they weren't together, they were together and they both knew it.

But we are not together, I emphasized.

And she laughed, she just laughed at me and shook her head, leant back into the sofa. We weren't together, we weren't talking, I was so sure he was dating other people and I kept telling myself that I wasn't worried about him at all.

But I was, Jade never texted me, I was sure she didn't even have my number.

And even though I tried not to sound worried, I was. It fucked my head up just thinking about the last few months with him and it scared me to think about what he was acting like that persuaded his sister to contact me when I hadn't seen him in months.

I love him, I do but I can't do it anymore.

I know, Pablo.

And he- we're not right for each other. Sh-she just wants me to fix him, Abuelita, and I don't- I can't.

Who will fix you, mi amor?

I'm not broken, I'd tell Abuelita, despite how wrong it felt coming out but she knew how I meant it. My lips upturned into a smile that felt all too much like overcompensation. She'd shake her head, muttering off to herself but she'd kiss my forehead a little longer when I went to leave. Te quiero, mas.

Te quiero. We'd leave it at that.

Isaiah smiled so often it was almost a crime. I thought that maybe he didn't know he was smiling most of the time, maybe it was his natural state, maybe something about his face just always felt kind of like who I'd pretended to be for years.

He was kind. I watched his facial expression shift more somber when he attempted to soften it, tried to clear the air that he obviously sensed was getting too thick.

"This is my little brother, Pedro, he's gonna stay here for the weekend, yeah?"

: : :

Isaiah was sheepish when apologizing to Pete about how we didn't have another room for him to stay in and it was unnecessary. It was weird how awkward he was being, he talked a lot, or maybe since LightofDay kind of ended, I didn't talk enough.

Jules didn't talk much, he never really knew how to express himself except for when things bothered him. He always knew how to voice what bothered him, he didn't talk much but he talked to me.

Things got complicated when I realized he knew how to talk about his fears, he expected me to as well... And he wanted to listen.

Pete was lounged back on the couch though, smiling small over at my roommate. "The couch is fine."

"Okay." With a smile, Izzy must've realized that no one really cared for small talk. "Well, I was cooking for two but luckily I always buy in bulk." I laughed at that, trying to ignore the 'shit, man, you're lucky' look Pete shot me then.

"You like pasta, right?" Everyone likes pasta, Iz. "I was watching this Australian YouTuber and she made this rigatoni with a homemade tomato sauce and I was like, I really wanna fucking try that, you know? And, you know, my mom got me that pasta maker last Christmas..."

He was biting his lip, talking a little too much again and maybe I was a bit fond of his ability to fill every open space. "I mean, I'm no chef or anything but- red or white?"

And it was cute how he spun around, two different wine bottles in his hands and I tried not to smile too much when I turned to look at him, hiding it in the fabric of the couch, my arms resting on the back.

"Doesn't matter."

"Um- okay." He was silent for a second as I tuned the TV to Netflix, handing Pete the remote. I wasn't sure when I started caring about how people looked at me but Pete's unreadable look then made me raise my brows.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, where are the pot holders?"

It was only ten minutes into Bojack when Pete asked to shower.

"He's nice." He'd voiced as I picked up some supplies scattered across my bed, pulling the blanket over wrinkled sheets, I nodded.

"Yeah."

His next question didn't come until I was trying to fluff the pillows. Sleeping alone reminded me of myself before. Julian always made the bed.

I was clean but he was cleaner... when he was happy. When he was nervous, he'd scrub a bit harder. He'd start to pick at the paint stuck to our coffee table when I was making dinner, when he was a little bit more agitated than usual. He'd straighten up my studio when I wasn't home and try to make it seem like he didn't do much but I always knew when he did.

And I loved it. I loved seeing him trying to hide straightening up our bed and how when I caught him, he'd jump back in, mess up the sheets again.

Freckled skin laced in cream colored silk.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, tried to forget that tiny apartment I'd sublet on 4th street, and the summer he spent in my arms. How pissed my dad was when I broke the lease two months after our break up, unable to stand coming home to no one.

"He's cool," hung in the air and Pete was gaging how much energy I gave his statement, probably how much I cared about what he thought of Isaiah.

"Are you dating?" He was leant on a closed door watching me and when he started to pester. I kept my eyes on the comforter. With my back to him, I tried not to cause a scene, quickly wiping wetness off my cheek. I breathed out a sigh and then a forced laugh.

"He's just a friend."

He ignored that and I knew he didn't believe me but I could also tell that wasn't all he wanted to ask.

And I finished fixing the bed, turning to sit, and absentmindedly started re-stacking the books on my side-table. Izzy had given me most of them, emphasizing how much a travesty it was that I hadn't heard of Andre Aciman or James Baldwin.

"This is nice."

Turning to look at what he was referring to, I saw the same piece that had given me grief for weeks before. It was abstraction, I truly didn't know what the hell it was supposed to be actually.

And I wrinkled my nose at it, it was all muted colors with a vibrant lilac, tracing up into branch like strokes and I never wanted to see it again.

"I hate it."

"What? Why?"

I shrugged and really didn't know, it just wasn't my best work and I knew it.

He was still holding it, turning it to look at it landscape and then back to portrait like he was trying to figure it out and I fought a smile.

It took a second, a brush around my room, fingers grazing work scattered and then Pete was sitting beside me, bumping his shoulder against mine.

I bumped it back, scooting back further and resting on my elbows. Pete laid back, staring up at the ceiling and just when I thought we could relax a bit, he asked, "You're drinking again?"

That was out of nowhere.

"No." I knew it wasn't convincing.

"Is that why you were late to Tia's house last weekend?"

"No." At least that part was true. I was late to Tio Andres' birthday party cause I didn't know if I wanted to actually go, cause I knew they'd ask about my boyfriend who I'd brought to the wedding the year before and I didn't want to brave the judgmental stares, they were always a step away from being homophobic anyways.

I didn't wanna hear them talk about Milo and how he and his beautiful novia, muy bonita, were expecting. And I didn't want to tell him that. "No, I- uh- I went to see Jules."

"Oh."

It was silent and I knew he was waiting for me to continue. "We talked." Swallowing hard, I shrugged. "I think he's okay, well— as okay as Jules can be, you know?"

"Yeah."

I thought about him crying in my arms, then about me crying in his and about how long I held him after he'd fallen asleep. "We're okay." That felt good to say and actually mean it, we hadn't been this okay in a while. "We're— we're friends or something, you know?"

"You still miss him?"

Of course I did, I didn't think I'd ever not miss him.

"I always miss him." And I didn't wanna talk about it any further.

Leaning back fully, I shut my eyes. I wanted to sleep for the night already, Abuelita's face, still and pale, sat behind my eyelids.

I blinked them open, stinging in the corners, Pete seemed to be thinking.

And we never had time together to just talk anymore, it was almost therapeutic.

"Where do you think we go... after we're gone?" My heart sank but there wasn't much sadness behind it. Genuine curiosity was why I answered it, he was looking over at me with furrowed brows and I wished I knew the answer.

I just shrugged, "um... I don't know. Heaven, I guess."

"So... Do you- y-you think Abuelita's right?" He seemed like he really wanted that answer though, like he needed someone to verify it for him. "That Abuelo's waiting for her?"

Something about that felt true though, if there wasn't anything I really knew about the afterlife, I somehow still believed she was right about something.

Maybe I just didn't want her to be alone.

I nodded then, "yeah, I do." Pete's lip quirked up at the corner and I didn't want to be sad anymore.

With a sigh, I sat back up just a bit, just on my elbows again and pushed at his side until he'd rolled a full foot over. "Tell me about her."

"Her?"

"This girl you keep spending all your time with, Mama talks."

Pete was blushing then, trying to hide it by throwing his arm over his face and he let out a deep groan then. I tried to stifle how much that amused me, biting at my lips when he shot up again and went to throw his head between his knees, still rubbing over his face. "It's Willa."

"Really?" That was surprising, they'd been something for almost as long as me and Jul-

I tried not to let my smile drop then, it a grimace almost and I was happy he wasn't looking at me then. "That's still goin' on?"

He was shaking his had as if he didn't believe that himself. "I-I'm still wondering what she sees in me?" What? "She's really smart, like MIT smart, the other day she spent an hour talking about the prison industrial complex, like she just knows things, you know?"

Pete was smiling then, grinning and he didn't even know it, I was sure. This was the most he'd lit up the entire time, his mind finally off of the hospital. "And-and she gets me, you know? Like she doesn't get weird around me when I say something... weird. And-and she's so pretty, bro, you have no idea what it's like to be me and to be with her."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The look he gave me then was a deadpan, like he was repulsive or something.

"I look like this and she's a fuckin' ten, man." I didn't know what to say to that, I was sure no one else saw what Pete was talking about, he was always his biggest critic. "Listen to my voice, I still sound like a fucking muppet and I'm a little too old to still be going through puberty."

I tried not to laugh, tried to be a bit sympathetic, "Pedro—"

"Yeah, yeah, self love and all that bullshit."

I was definitely laughing then, how predictable could I be? "I'll tell you what, it feels like every romantic comedy ever made when I'm walking with a girl that's so out of my league. Like, actually, its the movie She's Out of my League. Personality and whatever might be what she sees in me but I'm not fucking Seth Rogan."

I really wanted to tell him that it wasn't Seth Rogan in that movie but, "I know exactly how you feel."

"You cannot begin to know how I feel."

One flaw to everyone thinking that you didn't have any insecurities was the condescending brush off whenever you voiced them.

Like there was absolutely, no way that I would ever feel bad about myself. It was a good thing in everyday, feeling okay with who I was on the regular, but sometimes Jules would look at me fixing myself up and roll his eyes or he'd make little comments.

You know you're perfect.

I'd voice that I felt a little gross that day and he would just laugh, shake his head, make it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

And maybe it wasn't but I'd worked so hard to make sure he felt good about himself and the reciprocity just wasn't there.

Maybe I should've told him.

Maybe I should've told somebody.

"Have you seen Jules? Or Nic, even Isaiah?" They we're all hotter than me, that was something that was extremely obvious to me. Jules was the cute boy next door, Nic was a hottie Italian who drove polished foreign cars and made minimalistic YouTube videos, and Isaiah.

I mean, that one wasn't even debatable.

"Dude, I know exactly how it feels to be with someone who's just objectively more attractive than me."

Having to watch other people fawn over the guy you came with... when I took Jules to the wedding, my cousins wouldn't stop flirting with him, long hair twirled around their fingers, modelescque bodies in glittery bridesmaids dresses.

And he was attracted to women, it showed, a flush on his cheeks. He didn't pull away when Georgina's hand wrapped itself around his bicep, I tried not to take that to heart.

Yeah, it was hard.

"So you're with him."

I didn't realize what he was referring to until I'd looked over to see a wide smirk on his face.

"That's not what I meant."

"That's what you said."

"But I meant, you know- walking with—"

Pete was louder now, a laugh in his words and he'd cut me off with a hand in my face. "That's not what you said." I was having trouble holding back my amusement now, laughing along with him even though it wasn't all that funny.

As much as he annoyed me, I missed him.

"Shut the hell up. Bueno?"

"That's not muy agradabeel." He'd tried, the butchered Spanish making me laugh. Pete was never good at it and it probably had something to do with the lack of Spanish in our house.

Maybe Ma didn't speak much English when Milo was little, and I'd learnt from Abuelita.

Peter never tried to learn and it wasn't around him as much. His accent was very Michigan white boy, with more nasally vowels than anything.

"Agradable."

His eyes narrowed into a glare. "Agrada-ta-ta."

And he tried to keep a straight face but soon we were both laughing at nothing. Keeling over, I clutched my stomach Pete sliding to the floor in a fit only made me laugh harder.

We were both trying to catch our breath, only to laugh harder when our eyes met again and I was wiping more tears from my eyes.

: : :

"What helps?"

Pete didn't ask another question until we'd both settled in. We'd spent hours just talking, if sincerely forgotten how good it felt to be around family. It was almost impossible to be upset for too long.

Mid Pose — a show Isaiah had introduced me to and I'd been in love with ever since— I was sitting on the couch with a spare comforter over me. My brother had wandered back into the living room after this shower. His curls were wet and he'd shaken them in my face like a dog, chewing on some taffy that he'd found after rummaging through our cabinets.

He sat with me for a bit, quickly becoming engrossed in the show, especially scenes with Indya Moore.

Me too, Pete, me too.

Pete was looking at me when I'd pulled my gaze away from the TV, my chin was in my hand, mouth gaped and he had his set of bushy brows raised.

"Huh?"

"How do you do it?" He was nervous then, it read in the awkward way he'd tucked his hands between his knees and he'd never looked as embarrassed as when he'd ask me for relationship advice.

"I remember just how good I am at everything else."

I didn't see how that came off until I'd caught a pillow before it smacked the side of my face. "Gross, man."

"Oh, fuuuck off." Tossing the pillow at him, I laughed when it hit him square in the face. "I meant like loving someone; you know, being a good partner."

And his sheepish nodding wasn't enough then, I wanted to embarrass him further. Wiggling my brows, I tilted my head.

"But if we're going there too, I mean, I've never had an unsatisfied—"

"Get out."

Trying not to wake Izzy, I settled for a small chuckle, throwing my head back. "Of my own apartment?"

It took a second but Pete was picking up the taffy, his phone and the little throw he'd brought from my room.  "Well, then, I'm getting out."

But still he lingered and I was laughing.

"Go, then, vamos! Rapido, rapido."

He'd disappeared through my door in seconds and I turned to unpause one of Elektra's famous drags, having to rewind it a good two minutes before to experience it in all its glory.

I was mid-snap when Pete's annoying voice was back and in full effect. "You haven't you know, here recently?"

"Shut up, Pedro." Waving him off, I was trying not to throw the remote in his direction. It was more dramatic than Abuelita's telenovelas... but just as enthralling.

"I'm serious!"

"I changed the sheets last night now shh!"

He'd scoffed then and I felt a pillow smack the back of my head this time, harder than before. "Alright, Father."

Just when I thought he'd leave me alone... "Hey, Paul?"

"What?"

Pete was giving a closed lip smile when I turned to look at him, trying to appease him and hoping this would be enough. The look on his face was unreadable.

And then he sighed, scratching the back of his neck, I'd seen so much of myself in him.

"I just wanted to say thanks."

A/N:

a little familial moment, a little reestablishing pablo, a little this quarantining is slowly driving me insane.

let me ouuuuuut.

Updated: Tues. March 31st

Favorite TV Show, tell me what to binge! (If you havent, watch 9-1-1, it's on Hulu and on FOX)