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He let himself in, the place still and quiet and just as he’d left it, and thought about getting a cat.
He was scrolling through cat pictures at the local shelter on Saturday morning, still in his sleeping trackies and white shirt, his mug of coffee steaming beside him, his interest constantly returning to a fluffy grey female—she was rough looking, and apparently she had a terrible personality (‘standoffish’ could only belie so much couldn’t it?), when there was a knock on the front door.
He tossed his phone aside and got up, planning to tell his mum he loved her but she really didn’t need to drop in, he was fine, but as he opened the door and saw Chris standing there, looking disturbingly good in a suit, his hair a tussled mess, eyes shadowed and expression guarded as he breathed out, “Hey,” Joq thought, he secretly liked her drop-ins and had even bought the tea she liked the day before.
“Hi?” he asked and wondered why it was a question, the thought of his mum evaporating.
“You never messaged me back,” Chris said. He looked really fucking tired.
“I,” Joq started and realised he had nothing else.
“Why?” Chris asked when Joq didn’t go on.
Joq swallowed. He hated being this guy. “You didn’t try that hard, Chris. C’mon, three texts? You didn’t even call.” And he hated himself a bit more for that, but he was not going to feel worse for what needed to happen here.
“I went to your work. I didn’t want to hound you, but I did call—”
“No, you didn’t.” Joq could read a contact on his phone.
“I did. I just,” Chris looked away, “hung up when you answered.”
“I have you as a contact in my phone.”
“I used my office phone.”
“Why?” Joq leaned in the doorway.
“So you wouldn’t know,” he waved his hand between them.
“So I wouldn’t know it was you?”
“Well,” Chris met his eyes and straightened. “Why didn’t you reply? Why didn’t you call?”
“Because I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea,” Joq said.
“And what idea is that?” Chris replied, bracketing his hand on the door; he smiled with a hint of cockiness.
“That I want to see you again,” Joq replied.
The cockiness evaporated and he looked hurt. He dropped his hand and stepped back.
“Right, sorry,” Chris tucked his hands into his pockets, his hair falling in his eyes and when he looked up, Joq remembered how handsome he was—even tired and dishevelled, he was striking.
“I didn’t mean, I’m sorry—”
“No, I get it,” Chris nodded his head, looked away. “Sorry to bother you.”
He turned to go and Joq told himself to let him, he couldn’t do this and Chris was a decent guy.
“Wait,” Joq called after him.
Chris stopped and looked over his shoulder. Now that he was literally doing what Joq asked—waiting, expression curious but still downcast—Joq didn’t know what to say.
“It’s alright, Joaquin,” Chris said, voice resigned. “I get it, you know? More than you realise.”
Joq nodded.
Chris sighed, looked away at the bank of trees shielding the apartments from the neighbouring block. He didn’t move.
