; radio silence

[benicio otero]

Not now, but not never. Maybe someday, you never know. To his persistently optimistic heart it’s not a departure or rejection, but a wait. Uncertain for now, a potential in the future. It was hard to say what that entailed for them next, whether that meant a platonic shift to friendship or a suspension of what they had become accustomed to. He could be honest without being demanding, all too familiar with the aches of heartbreak and the unsteady healing time after, everything so intense and raw that it’s hard to see outside of. She needs to make herself happy and he nods, hoping she will be able to see what he sees when she smiles. Despite the defenses and fights she put up, he knew he had made her happy at some points—just as he made her laugh or pout or roll her eyes. “You should. I can’t wait to see it,” he agreed, lifting her hand for a kiss before the inevitable separation. Might be the last nagged his senses, already missing her warmth, her scent. A briefly jagged moment in an otherwise smooth, breezy night, their surroundings making a return to his consciousness, buzz still steadily flowing through his system. Nora still in their periphery, his own friends who-knows-where. “Mami you don’t owe me anything,” he said, following the trajectory of her gaze to the bar. But of course he doesn’t want any of this to end, silly heart still full of hope. “But I will accept a drink or a dance,” he amended with a grin, consistent if anything.

[rosie de la cruz]

For once in her carefully planned, dedicated life, Rosie wasn't sure what was going to happen. In the far future let alone the near, staring down the possibilities of a new job and more time, of leaving something behind and trying not to look back. She wasn't sure if she'd stumble - in all likeliness, she would - but it wouldn't be progress otherwise. A wondrous thrill courses through her at the epiphany, as if living with mistakes was something new to discover entirely. Falling forward, figuring it out. For now, she would let it be. Let the painful honesty and the hard truths rest for the night, get back to what she'd wanted in the first place. Good, plain fun. It's what propels her to drag his arm over her shoulder, grip curled loosely on his wrist as she dragged him back to the bar. “Drink and a dance, then,” Rosie promises, requesting another round when the bartender's eyes find hers. Unsure whose tab it ends up on (if any) when she's waved away. Sometimes it paid to be pretty, turning back to clack her glass against his, a cheeky “salud,” thrown in for good measure as she pulled another sip. Tilting toward the bodies that had been growing as the hours spun. “Should we go find your friends in there?”

[benicio otero]

This was the chaos and unpredictability he was used to living for himself, but new for Rosie. It would be an interesting shift to witness, confident that she would find her footing. She was smart, strong, capable; hiccups in her plan were enough to rattle her but not unsettle her entirely. It was yet another new side of her to know, watching her peer into the unknown, anxious yet excited, finally surrendering to the way of the world rather than struggling to control it all. There’s a thrill in letting go. If there was anything to glean from proximity to Benicio it was his flexibility in life, going with the flow (and sometimes against the grain) and enjoying the meanders. After all, it’s how he had met her. Suddenly his arm is over her and he’s following her lead, lumbering behind her heels, their height difference amusing to him as they shouldered through the crowd. At the bar a glass registers in his palm, feeling it vibrate against hers, returning an enthused salud. At her suggestion he grabs her free hand and takes the lead, peering over the crowd to locate one friend dancing with a stranger, the other talking against another stranger’s ear. He says something to them in Spanish, spinning Rosie to him, moving to the music. “Come, it’s the Latino thing to do. Dance the pain away,” he said over the song, a toothy smile alight under the wandering strobes.

[rosie de la cruz]

And dance she does. Loosened by enough alcohol and a careening sense of awareness, Rosie's tugged close and spun away, arms looped around his neck and head tossed back and eyes dragged shut when their bodies neared one another. It's easy and senseless and freeing, Nora regaining her footing and joining them after she feared being left out. Never caring what the song was, or what came next, just enjoying company and waning hours and precious, unfurling time. Which, as it always does, catches up to them. Nora drifting slowly against her shoulder, eyes fluttering wide then shut, that kind of sleepy, slurry drunk that meant it was edging the time to leave. Rosie adjusts her friend against her frame, having stolen back to the banquette when feet had grown tired and drinks had run low. Buzz echoing in her ears as a nervous smile laces her features, bordering on sheepish. “It might be time to go soon,” Rosie admits, head tilted in Nora's direction as her body drifts into sleep once again, snapping back to right itself when she came back to her senses. Worried any more time would spell disaster Rosie slowly rises to her feet, arms crossing in contemplation of how they'd do this before sliding back to Beni. “Do you mind helping me walk her out?”

[benicio otero]

It’s a flurry of bodies, of hands, of faces. Among the pulsating crowd and under the careening lights they let themselves go, energy shifting with each song, mouthing the words to pop and rap and everything in between. He catches her eyes, ignites a smile, pulls her near again. It’s almost painful to be this close to her without kissing her and whispering sweet-nothings against her ear. They're rendered into fluid at the mercy of the crowd, never in one place for too long, even Nora joining the fray. He’s relieved that she’s upright again, no longer a worry in the corner of their eye. The drink drains, hands filter over his chest and shoulders, hips and ass mesmerizing beneath his palms. It's approaching the end and Beni knows it, temples shiny with sweat and stuck with errant curls. Nora is starting to fade, Rosie not far behind, neither used to nights out like this. Despite his own tipsiness he recognizes it before it’s said, leaning down to catch Rosie’s words. The Puerto Rican nods, two languages beginning to blend in his head. “I got you,” he said to both girls, obliging as he loaded Nora’s slight weight onto his side, her other half balanced and guided by Rosie. His phone glows in his hand, contacting one of his local drivers as they made their way forward. “Where does she live? I’ll help you take her home.”

[rosie de la cruz]

Rosie wonders just how much of this Nora is going to remember. Intoxicated the moment Rosie had pushed through the doors she'd only gone downhill, the last gasp of energy whittled away on dance moves they'd encouraged over laughs. Would she remember the conversation she'd been in? Would she remember the one that happened a few feet in front of her? Flicking from clipped words to tumbled confessions, an unsteady armistice and the final, fleeting smiles. Rosie'd probably have to fill in her gaps tomorrow, wrestling with how content she'd feel when she recalled what she'd said as they balanced her out of the bar. “She's in Gramercy, East 19th and Irving,” Rosie recites from memory, at times shocked back into the vastness of Nora's wealth when she visited the brownstone. Inherited from her family, the one place of solitude she often found amidst the drama of her parents and siblings. Another person who'd dragged her right under her wring, lips curling in affection as she gently leaned Nora against the wall next to her. Checking the time, eyes flashing in wonder at the hour. “Can't remember the last time I was out until 4:37am,” she breathes, the weather chilly yet tolerable against their heated skin. Once the car arrives they're off, mumbling platitudes to Nora's drunken questions until she's up maneuvered up her stairs and straight to her room. After a few minutes of coaxing her friend into pajamas and placing a water bottle and advil on her nightstand she meets Beni by the door, body easing against the wooden frame. “I'm gonna stay with her,” she murmurs into the air, lights flickering from the park across the street before a dark gaze pulls her back. Unsure what to do but trying to be ok with it, warmth sincere and open in her stare.“Thank you, for tonight.”

[benicio otero]

The next thing he knows they’re in a car aimed toward Gramercy. Benicio chats idly with the driver on their way over, exchanging life updates before he and Rosie are coaxing Nora out and up the stairs. It’s that time of night when seeing the hour makes you shrink, calculating how many hours of sleep you might get and weighing the few remaining hours left of a new day. There was the question of whether he was a bad influence or a simple shepherd of fun, the events of the night blurring together, the start not exactly matching the end. Since he first found out that he’d see her tonight, he knew the night would end with her one way or another; it always did when she was around, becoming the center of his attention. He waits patiently as Rosie helps Nora to bed, delivering a bottle of water from the fridge, hearing the sweet murmurs of the two girls from the next room over. It warms his heart, makes him forgive his selfish motive in inviting her out in the first place. When Rosie appears he perks up again, no news being good news. Now it’s a cue to get going, his time running out. “You’re so good with her. She’s lucky,” he said of her bedside manner, face warm with appreciation. Hands in his pocket and not offered up for once, dark tired eyes slow to track her. “Who’s gonna take care of you?” he wondered, leaning against the door frame’s counterpart. He should already know the answer, facing the princesa who was always fine until she wasn’t, who had it all figured out until it fell apart.

[rosie de la cruz]

Before long these crawling hours will drip into day, sunshine breaking the grid planes to filter warmth on lonely concrete. Rouse birds from their perch, drag people from bed with alarm clock pitches. She was familiar with that hour but from the other side - awakening, not watching it wake. Now she fully planned to sleep a day away, the prospect as strange as it was exciting. Consistently, curiously uncovering. Exhaustion tugged her right back down, rubbing at eyes that suddenly could barely stay open. Her shoes had come off, she'd settled down for a minute...it was all crashing, concluding. Even a compliment could do little to draw it out, though her skin warmed at the phrase. “Years of practice,” Rosie says affectionately, words slow and sleepy as she crossed her arms over her chest. Smiles knowingly at his questions, because they both knew what she'd say. Predictable in rare occassions, but tonight it seemed to take on a different meaning; less defensive, more authentic. “I think I can take care of myself this time.” A bittersweet parting note, not sure when they'd see each other next, when the next time they'd talk would be. But the door remained open, even if the physical one she'd dragged into her palm was slowly closing. “Goodnight, Beni.”

[benicio otero]

Neither know what kind of goodbye this is. It’s a bittersweet feat to remember their last encounters, thinking of the last time they kissed, shared a bed, called a date. Wondering if it might truly be the last, unbeknownst to them at the time. He had only managed to bury his feelings in her absence but at least it was all out in the open now, her past laid out and his intentions made clear. Besides that, he delivered on his promise to safeguard Nora and show Rosie a good time without strings attached. A night that began with her on his mind, ending with her smile in his dreams. The door’s closing in every sense. He watches her shrink behind it, the night air nipping at him on the front stoop, stranded in the dark. The driver still faithfully waiting, knowing from their exchange that Beno couldn’t stay one way or another even if the vague hope in him wouldn’t die. “Buenas noches, Rosie,” he returns, voice steady despite the questions, the uncertainties. Letting her lead only to let her go, no guarantee for her return. For a second time he must walk away and let her be, trust that his honesty was good enough, that patience could be rewarded eventually. Down the stairs and into the car, alone, feelings raw and alive again.