#kinda the same with the writing segment. where like they gave me an extremely easy to expand on subject and then a piece of paper

[lowkey-lokis-bitch]

grief is not as heavy as guilt - bucky.barnes

pairing - bucky barnes x reader

warnings - a few curse words, violence, making out, general sad lmao

word count - 3063

a/n - look who finally wrote again? bitches i’m backkk. also pls send requests so i can be inspired to write lmao

Power vibrated throughout your body. The team watched diligently as the purple sparks erupted from your fingertips. Don’t think about them, concentrate. You forced your eyes open to aim your energy towards the mannequins at the other end of the hall. You felt your feet begin to leave the floor, and though it might try, gravity had no chance of pulling you back down. You sped up and across the hall, a faint purple haze trailing your body. You spun quickly, before ploughing your fist into the first dummy, sending it flying and bouncing off of the glass walls. You heard a communal exclamation from the team behind you as you landed on the floor, which fuelled your desire to impress them even further.

The second figure didn’t stand a chance as you leapt and roundhouse kicked it, leaving it in two pieces on the floor. You didn’t even turn to look at the final dummy as you lifted your hand behind you and blasted it, sending it smashing through the wall, a subsequent streak of coloured electricity humming in the air.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for it,” Tony spoke, his voice loud enough for you to hear across the training hall. “Not like I pay for enough around here.” He trailed off before leaving the room, rubbing his forehead.

Your breathing began to slow as you regained your strength and stepped towards the remainder of the team. Sam looked at you with an impressed look plastered across his face, reaching out to give you a pat on the back as you passed him.

“Better every day kid,” he spoke, laughing as he turned to walk alongside you.

“Thanks Sam,” you said, looking up to give him a smile. Sam had become like an older brother to you during your time with the Avengers, there for you whenever you needed him. His intense sense of humour was highly useful during the dark nights, when the thoughts were too extreme to sleep. “You ready to take me on, yet?” “Damn, you know I’m getting too old for that. You need someone like Parker, or Bucky. I bet he could take you down with that metal hunk of junk,” he smirked, never dismissing an opportunity to give a dig in Bucky’s direction. You rolled your eyes in response, laughing quietly. Your relationship with Bucky wasn’t necessarily a secret, but you made a conscious effort to keep it separate from your work.

Taking a quick look around, you noticed that Bucky wasn’t in the training room. The team had split into two groups, with Steve, Nat, Wanda and Vision deep in discussion and Peter and Rhodey messing about with their suits. Tony had been locked in the lab for the past few days, so it was safe to assume that everyone’s equipment had received a serious upgrade.

“I think I’m gonna train a bit longer,” you stopped in your tracks, turning to face Sam. “But I’ll see you later? I think I’m gonna make pasta for dinner.”

“Ooh, you know I can’t miss your pasta,” Sam chuckled, his eyes crinkling. “Take it easy kid, you’ve worked hard today.” “Thanks,” you gave him a quick hug before jogging towards Steve. “Hey, can we spar?”

He wrung his hands, looking across at his teammates, “I think Wanda might be a better fit.” There was a long-running theory amongst the team regarding you and Wanda, and you were aware of some bets that were happening under the table concerning who would win in a battle between the two of you. Your powers shared a similar undertone, hers stemming from the Reality Stone and yours the Power Stone. You were already drowsy from your earlier training, but you knew that to keep up with the rest of the team you had to push yourself.

“You up for it?” you tilted your head towards Wanda, who seemed nervous yet confident.

“Sure,” the woman’s Sokovian accent bled through her speech. She had been training with Natasha to disguise her dialect for mission, but when she was with the team, she often fell back into her natural cadence.

You moved towards the centre of the room, stretching your arms and cracking your neck. Wanda shook her hands at her sides as she steadied herself across from you. You gave her a quick smile then turned to Steve, making sure that he was ready to pull you out if it got bad.

“Okay, rules. Play ‘til someone taps out. No extreme power usage, otherwise Tony will get pissed at us for breaking things.”

“Language,” Peter yelled out from behind Rhodey, fully using him as a shield if his joke went down badly.

Steve rolled his eyes before continuing, “If it gets out of hand, Rhodey and I are ready to step in. You good?”

I gave him a quick nod, Wanda doing the same. He held out his hands to gesture the start of the competition. You took a deep breath, your eyes focusing on Wandas. You thrust your hands out in front of you, a shield of purple streaks appearing between you and leapt into the sky. Wanda rocketed backwards, throwing her hands above her to raise segments of the floor into spikes. You swerved to avoid the stalagmites rising towards you and crashed to the floor, your fists pounding the concrete and sending out purple cracks. The rock around you crumbled and you could feel the power pulsating throughout your body. You could see the deep purple hue surrounding your body as you stood, then sprinted towards Wanda.

She met you on the ground, her eyes glowing a bright red and her fingertips sparking with flares. You threw a punch directed at her left shoulder, which she blocked and kicked at the back of your knee. You fell, but swung your feet to take her down with you. She landed on the floor with a thud, the air knocked out of her lungs. You stood quickly, preparinging yourself for a burst of energy, not noticing that Wanda had sent her hand towards you. You were thrown into the far wall with a flash and you tumbled to the floor. Whining, you lifted yourself onto your hands and knees and looked at the woman doing the same across the room.

You stood slowly, feeling the entirety of your strength flooding your body. Steve and Rhodey flashed each other a concerned look, before turning their gaze back to you. You didn’t care. All that you could focus on right now was the power coursing through your veins, and it needed an escape. You began to walk, before it became a run, and then you flew into the air at an increasing speed. Rhodey snapped his helmet on, having an idea of where this was heading. You weren’t in control of your own body at this point, you had no idea how to stop what was about to happen. This had almost happened once before, but Bucky had been there to help you, to talk you down from this place. He wasn’t here now.

You bulleted towards Wanda, screaming. Your hands were out in front of you, and you had one intent. Kill. You could see the fear in Wanda’s eyes as you got closer and closer, before Rhodey grabbed you around the waist, Steve grabbing Wanda. You flailed in his metallic grasp, desperate to release your power somehow. You flung your fists at his head, not feeling the pain as your knuckles ripped and became bloodier with every punch. You heard Rhodey grunting as he struggled to maintain his grip on you, and your power surged, further and further. Until it gave out.

Your left hand was warm, despite the rest of your body remaining at a normal temperature. You opened your eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the sudden light in the room. A figure was sat by your bedside, his hand overlapping yours. The dark mop of hair was comforting to you, and you moaned a greeting.

“Hey doll,” Bucky looked up at you, giving you a soft smile. “You’ve been out for a few hours. How are you feeling?”

“Not great to be honest,” your voice was croaky, and it was almost painful to speak. “I can’t remember anything, what happened?”

“Well, you were training with Wanda. She threw you, and you kinda freaked out,” he spoke slowly. “Rhodey grabbed you and you passed out. They brought you straight here.”

“Is Wanda okay?” your voice wobbled, concern present.

“Yeah, just a bit shaken. I’m more concerned about you.”

“Baby,” you mumbled, feeling awful about what had happened. “I don’t know what it was, it’s like I wasn’t in control.”

“I don’t blame you, you’d been training for hours. You need to take a break sometimes babe,” Bucky’s eyes met yours and you could see the emotion swirling in them.

“If I have any chance of being able to go on missions with the team, I need to learn to control it. My power can help us-”

“But not if you won’t help yourself.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as a tear dropped onto your cheek. Bucky brushed it away with a finger and placed a delicate kiss to your lips. You opened your eyes to meet his, and he gave you a soft smile before kissing you again. You put your hands around his neck, pulling him towards you so that he was lying next to you on the bed. You flipped slightly so that you were able to place your legs across his, almost straddling him. Your tongues moved in sync, dancing and exploring each others mouths. You stroked his face, his scruffy beard tickling your beaten knuckles. You winced slightly, causing Bucky to pull away before you pulled him in even closer.

His hands roamed your back, pulling your hips to meet his. It wasn’t often that you got time alone during the day, and by god he was going to make the most of it. Your feet moved under the covers, brushing his and bringing a further sense of closeness. Bucky lightly scratched your lower back with his metal hand, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine and making you smile into the kiss. You trailed your hand along his shoulder and placed your other palm flush against his chest. After a few moments, Bucky pulled away, his breathing ragged.

“I love you doll, so much.”

“I love you too.”

The New York skyline was glittering as you stepped into the evening air. The team was out on mission, but Steve had decided that you were to be used as back-up, thus leaving you with the quinjet, waiting for a call. You paced back and forward, hearing crackles through your earpiece. Bucky checked in with you every so often, but it had been a while since you had heard his voice.

“Nat, where are you?”

“You see, there are a lot of aliens so I’m trying to deal with those at the minute.”

“Yeah, well, look to your right. There’s a lot more coming.”

You looked up to the dark sky and saw an immense ship descending towards the city. Before it had even reached the floor, there were masses of creatures jumping out of the doors to attack the population.

“Guys, I’m coming in,” you tried to sound assertive, before Steve shot you down.

“No, (Y/N). It’s too dangerous.”

“I don’t care. I can help. I can stop this.” You levitated into the air, speeding towards the city at an incredible speed. You aimed for the ship, your fist out in front of you ready to strike. You shot through the flow of creatures, sending them flying. Bodies crumpled before you and you fired a blast from your fist into the crowd, killing hundreds of the slimy mutants.

“Baby, this is too dangerous.”

Bucky’s voice almost stopped you in your tracks, but you forced yourself to spin and throw an electric burst to the ship. It exploded into shards of metal, which rained down on the city, taking many of the creatures with it. You could feel the power rising again, and you knew this was going to end the same way it did when you were training. But you were their best chance at finishing this.

You turned and took off towards midtown Manhattan, leaving a purple haziness in your wake. You landed with a crash, sending sparks flying in a mile-wide radius. Creatures flew into the air, their bodies contorting and exploding. You glanced around and saw your teammates fighting off bodies, and being overrun by the sheer amount of them. You ran towards Clint and Natasha, doing a barrel roll into the horde of aliens drowning them. They flew, glowing purple before fizzling out. Your body began to glow a deep violet, your eyes the strongest, darkest shade. The sight caused the pair to take a step back before shouting quickly on their comms. You couldn’t hear anything other than the blood pulsing in your ears.

You flew into the air once again before focusing on Tony, Rhodey and Peter working together to take down a group of creatures. You shot towards them, hurling a ball of electricity into the crowd of aliens, leaving them disintegrated in piles of ash. Tony retracted his helmet to look up at you with concern, but you had already left, searching for the final 3.

Steve was fending off a gang of creatures with his shield, the constant ricochet of the vibranium weapon ringing in his ears. Sam was soaring above him, sending shots down and dropping various weapons into the masses of aliens. Bucky was close to Steve, sending bullet after bullet flying from the gun in his hand. You dove towards the faction of beasts, landing in a crouch. The concrete beneath you fractured and split, purple light weaving into the cracks. Every creature in the city flew into the air, erupting into a wave of purple flame. The power flowing through your veins didn’t cease, you felt it building and building. You glowed with a ferocity that had never been seen before.

Bucky stepped towards you, knowing he was the only chance at saving you from yourself. He dropped his gun and stood face to face with you. He searched your eyes for any sign of you, but all that he could find was the unlimited power coursing through your body. He reached his hand up to rest on your cheek, and a tear fell from your eye. You wished you could put your hand atop his, but you couldn’t control your body. It felt as though you were trapped in a shell, a shell that was hell-bent on destroying everything in its path.

“(Y/N)?” Bucky’s voice was soft, a sense of desperation clear.

You continued looking straight ahead, your breathing picking up. Your hands drew into fists at your sides, and your glow intensified. You wanted to warn Bucky, to tell him to move. But you couldn’t.

“I love you,” Bucky spoke, and you erupted.

Thud.       Bang.       Crash.

The dummy in front of you fell into pieces, and your fists ached from throwing punch after punch. Sweat dripped from your forehead as you looked at the ground, feeling as though you were going to throw up. Bucky had been asleep for 2 weeks, under constant supervision from Bruce and regular checks from Tony. You couldn’t bring yourself to see him, knowing that you put him there. Your lack of training had done that to him. Steve had become increasingly concerned about you, checking in with you a few times a day, until he couldn’t find you in your room. You were in the training hall. Always.

If you had trained harder, you would have been able to control it. Bucky would be okay, you would be happy together and everything would be okay. You cursed yourself once again before grabbing one of the multiple mannequins you had lined up along the wall. You placed three in various positions before steadying yourself at the opposite end of the wall. You breathed slowly, then sped towards them, your feet lifting from the ground. You plunged your fist deep into the first one, picking up the broken model and throwing it at the second. You leapt high into the air, summoning all of the power you could muster and aiming it towards the final mannequin. A blast shot through the air and split the dummy in two. You remained in the air for a moment before lowering yourself to the ground and shooting blasts across the room in pure frustration.

“Woah!” a voice called out from the door, and you spun quickly to see Bucky bruised and beaten, but alive.

“Oh my god,” you brought your hand to your mouth and tears pricked your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to sprint into his arms, but something made you hesitate. Guilt.

“Babe?” Bucky spoke again, walking slowly towards you. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, your voice cracking. You crumbled to the floor, partially from exhaustion but also from the sheer amount of regret for what had happened. “I’m so sorry.”

Bucky rushed to your side, cuddling you into him. You just rocked yourself and repeated your apology over and over again.

“Baby,” he spoke softly, a tear falling from his eye. “There is nothing to be sorry for. You saved all of our asses out there. You know that right?”

“But I almost killed you.”

“I’m still here. You didn’t think you were gonna get rid of me already, did you?” he smirked, but the underlying emotion remained on his face. “Why are you in here? You need to take a break doll.”

You tilted your head to look at him, tears streaming down your face, “You said it yourself. I saved you all, but if I’m gonna do it again I need to practise. How are they going to tru-”

“Screw them all,” his face turned serious. “Really. Fuck ‘em. I know this whole damn city thinks it needs you, but not as much as I do. Please. You need to look after yourself, if not for you, for me.”

Bucky pleading was enough to bring you to your knees, “I love you Bucky.”

“I love you too, doll.”

[regrettablewritings]

Day Bi Day: A Documented Study of the Bisexual (Rafael Barba x Reader)

A/N: I’m not off hiatus, but I’ve been sitting on this idea since maybe late-April/early-May, and Pride Month seemed like the best time to actually do it. So forgive me if it’s kinda crap, I’m not entirely back into my groove just yet. Also: There’s a reason documentaries are a visual medium: It’s because writing out one like a story is hard. But it helps to imagine the narration being done by Tilda Swinton or David Attenborough. Shoutout to @xemopeachx for looking forward to this and being my hype(wo)man and @mrsrafaelbarba – both of them let me pass things by them segment by craptastic segment! (Also, tagging @ohbelieveyoume because if they have to suffer through this monstrosity, then so do you. That being said, Happy Pride Month!!

New York City: Home to over 8,550,405 people, it is a melting pot featuring persons from varying walks of life. This port city has long served as a nesting ground for new ideas, and stomping ground for old-time culture treasured by the society of the present day. But in such a vast hub of differing ideals and backgrounds, it easily becomes a hotbed for practices unchecked. For in a city so grand and driven by the ambition to progress, some ideas can slip through the cracks. Or, better yet, slip right beneath our noses.

It is here that we introduce Rafael Barba.

A man of Cuban descent, Rafael has worked his way to the position of ADA in the Sex Crimes Bureau of New York City’s 16th Precinct. A self-made man, Rafael is easily a representative of the American Dream come to fruition. There is, however, one lingering secret that he carries: Rafael identifies as bisexual. In addition, his romantic partner, (Y/N), also identifies as bisexual.

Accounting for approximately 1.8% of the American population alone, the bisexual is a pariah in modern human sexuality. Unlike the heterosexual, who finds sex appeal in members of the opposite sex, or the homosexual, who finds it in those who identify like themselves, the bisexual foregoes both suggestions and meets characteristics of either extreme in the middle by expressing a desire to have sexual encounters with those like-gendered or the opposite. However, as with most situations, meeting in the middle of a two-way street can be catastrophic.

But why do these people choose to forgo sensibility? What drives them to commit such perplexities? What characteristics do they thereby display as they continue their decent into ruin? For the first time, in full depth, we will be exploring these matters with an up-close and personal examination into the lives of a completely and fully bisexual couple. Join us as we take a peek into the interactions of Rafael and (Y/N) as we unlock the secrets of this promiscuous pair,

Day Bi Day.

Given that they prefer sampling both extremes of the genders, bisexuals are inherently greedy in nature. Where the hetero and even homosexual finds satisfaction, the bisexual remains discontent with the average human being’s basic necessities.

Rafael’s big, brass “ego” was not a workplace-only thing: It also appeared in his home life quite consistently. For example, it was in the fact that he would not only hog the covers to himself, but run the A/C unit in the event he got too warm, giving him even more reason to pull even more blanket upon his side of the bed! You weren’t having any of that, both his greed and the blanket itself. You’d put up with him long enough and you weren’t afraid to use the tactics necessary to tarnish that brass.

This moment in particular, you decided as you sleepily glared at his back, called for a cold approach. Eyes narrowed from sleep and disgruntlement, you maneuvered your chilled feet up the back of the man’s shirt before pressing them against his spine. A sound caught between a groan, a whimper, and a displeased growl was his response as he weakly attempted to arch his back away from your icy torment but to no avail. Unfortunately, the same could be said for you in your own respect: His damn grip didn’t give. In fact, in his pathetic but noticeable effort to move away from your freezing feet, Rafael only managed to pull even more blanket off of your increasingly waking and shivering form. The nerve of him!

Through your weary state, you snapped your tongue against the roof of your mouth in annoyance. This man was really going to make you work for it, wasn’t he?

“Rafiiiiiiiiii,” you whined, realizing how much energy talking required. “Blankeeeeetttt.” You lazily reached out, fingers opening and closing but to no purchase. All you got back was yet another groan stifled against his pillow. For the love of God! You swore that you would destroy the man the next chance you got as you summoned every iota of energy you could to shakily push yourself up onto your elbow. You didn’t care that Rafael couldn’t see your glare (both because his back was to you and because his eyes were closed). All you cared about was that you were cold and it was because he wouldn’t share the damn cover!

“Rafael,” you groused. “Share.” With that command, you reached out and gripped as much of the comforter as your sleep-weakened grip could muster. When he didn’t make a sound of objection, you willed yourself to pull.

No luck.

Scowling, you tried again. Your little heart gave a fatigued leap of joy when you felt his hold on the blanket coming loose. Just had to pull a little harder –

You weren’t thinking too much when you pressed your feet against Rafael’s back once more for leverage and strained yourself as hard as you could in such a state. In fact, with how little he responded, it didn’t occur to you that he would actually make the effort to move, much less in a dramatic way.

When he turned over, front facing you, you got smacked with way too many thoughts and emotions for this forsaken hour: There was glee that the blanket was no longer nearly as wedged beneath and around him as before; contentment that you would now have enough coverage from the cold elements Rafael had cast upon the bedroom; shock when you realized that your body wasn’t stopping from tipping over; and that small but nevertheless realistic fear one gets once their body realizes that it’s falling.

Frankly, it was the lack of blanket on his body that made Rafael’s eyes crack open. But as his body dragged itself somewhat into consciousness, he came to the realization that he’d just heard a small yipping sound, followed by a thud. When his eyes adjusted to the dark just enough, he found your side of the bed barren, the blanket nowhere in sight. From your place on the floor, you heard your bedmate grunt, followed by the shuffling and squeaking of him dragging his body to the edge of the bed. It was quite easy to make out his face peering over the edge now that you were wide awake.

“… J’you fall over?” Rafael yawned dully.

He wasn’t expecting you to yank him off the bed to join you in your disgruntlement at 3AM.

It is due to this ravenous nature that the bisexual cannot be trusted. Their willingness to cross boundaries creates a brazen attitude, leading to a proneness of cheating. Imagine the frequency such occurs in a relationship wherein both participants identify as bisexual …

You knew what to expect when you opened up the pantry that afternoon: Whole wheat crackers, dried pumpkin seeds, Craisins, rice cakes – all placed neatly in a row on your side of the space. Courtesy of Rafael’s meddling, of course.

What you did not expect, however, was the sticky note pasted to a small container of low-sodium trail mix:

Good luck! You can do this! ❤ Rafi 😊, inscribed in his precise yet purposeful handwriting.

Your hand gently placed itself on your heart as you released a small “aww” of complete adoration. Soon after you’d professed your goal to begin eating healthier, he had become your biggest supporter, buying all kinds of lean snacks and substitutes for your usual junk food. He’d even offered to take the health plunge with you but you insisted that just putting in the effort to provide you with the foods you would need was kind enough. The letters, though? Unwarranted but nevertheless greatly appreciated.

It felt wonderful and empowering to know that your beloved believed in you, and it only made you believe in yourself all the more. You missed Double-Stuffed Oreos like the dickens but now you knew: You could do this! Filled with a newly stoked flame of determination, you decided to nosh upon the pre-determined serving size of whole wheat crackers – and then paused. Right as you were reaching for the box, a glimmer flickered from the corner of your eye. It came from Rafael’s side of the pantry.

It wasn’t that Rafael was an enabler – far from it! – but he certainly had a different approach to snacking than you did. While he certainly had consideration for his health, this did not mean that he restricted himself as drastically as one might think. The both of you knew how stressful and bitter his job was; you therefore had no qualms about his side containing more comforting foods: pretzels, Twizzlers, chocolate-covered sunflower seeds …

At first.

Rafael’s exact and orderly placement of snacks and foods was meant to wipe away any potential trouble caused by misplacement or supposed lack of space. For the first time in your relationship, this method had failed.

There, placed at just the right angle for the light of the kitchen behind you to hit the shiny packaging, was a small bag of milk chocolate Godiva truffles Rafael’s guilty pleasure snack. From the way the top of the bag was rolled, you could see that it had been opened. However, for as much of a snacker as Rafi was, he was pretty precise when it came to his chocolates. He probably even counted them to make sure he knew how many of the dollops he had left.

Considering this as a very real possibility, you shook your head gently and returned your attention to the whole wheat crackers.

…

The dry, crunchy, drag-against-your-throat-as-you-swallow-them crackers that would require way too many gulps of water to moisten them as they drain the saliva out of your mouth crackers …

Godiva, on the other hand, made your mouth salivate instantly. You wouldn’t need nearly as much watery assistance if you ate them –

No! Those weren’t a part of the plan, they were Rafi’s! Rafael had all the confidence and pride in the world for you, Rafael believed – no . . . He knew you could stick with your goal. It was only fair that you did your part and proved to him that you could! Come hell or woman riding naked on a high horse! … Speaking of which, what did Lady Godiva have to do with chocolate?

You got why nude plus chocolate could equal sensual, but there was a horse involved. And it was all because she wanted her husband to lay off on his oppressive taxes. Where the heck did the jump from dare to delicacy happen? Better Google it.

It was when you reached for it in your pants pocket that you realized you had left your phone in the bedroom. So no Googling the answer there … But surely there was an explanation on the bag, right? Godiva had probably received thousands of questions and comments about their choice in name and logo; to place an answer to all the queries on their packaging wouldn’t be farfetched in the least.

Besides, you thought to yourself as you pulled out the bag of truffles, it might be good to read something while I eat my crackers …

After a day full of errands, tackling the bustling streets of the city, and gritting his teeth as he withstood the annoyances of shouting pedestrians and work-related texts from Liv, Rafael needed an elixir to heal his fatigued body. And there were three things he usually turned to for such a purpose: Food, scotch, and you, not necessarily in that order.

With you lounging on the couch watching some show about the devil living in Los Angeles or whatever, and his favorite bottle of scotch still full and glimmering on the counter, there was one last thing he could use to perfectly sweeten this well-deserved respite.

Rafael thought himself to be the best, most considerate man in New York as he opened the pantry in search of Godiva. He felt that one truffle wouldn’t hurt you. After all, you’d been so dedicated these last few weeks, surely you, too, deserved a little treat –

Wait, what?

His brows furrowed over his confusion-filled, green eyes. Rafael took a step back to recollect exactly what his side of the pantry had looked like this morning when he’d opened it to find cereal. That bag of blueberry Craisins wasn’t there before, they were by the Twizzlers! He pushed the bag to the side, only to confirm his suspicions.

“Uhhh … Honey?” he called, eyes still trained on the shelf before him. “Have you seen my Godiva?” Had Rafael glanced back at your form, lazily lounged upon the sofa, he would have regarded how much more tense you’d suddenly become in the last second.

By the time he looked back at you, you had become somewhat less rigid. But only by a fraction. Thank God he couldn’t see your eyes from this angle, otherwise, they would have directed him to the wicker basket of magazines in the corner: the burial ground of the evidence of your crime.

But alas, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t read your eyes. As a lawyer, Rafael could read the atmosphere alone and that would be enough.

You knew this as you heard his voice ring from behind you, “Did – Did you cheat on your diet!?”

You didn’t care that the apartment wasn’t massive by any means; you booked it for a hiding place.

With an identity that lacks the certainty or foundation assured by those with definite attractions, the lifestyle of the bisexual is a peculiar one worthy of observation as it finds itself buffeted day in and day out by the individual’s ever-changing pronouncements. The lives of Rafael and (Y/N) are no exception to this pattern or lack thereof. Their shared abode is regularly populated with sordid activities in a modern recreation of Sodom and Gomorrah with the weekends serving as a bacchanal devoted to drugs, sex, and absolute debauchery.

Friday night.

It had been a long, physically grueling and mentally taxing week. It was time to let loose and throw out as much care as possible for the next few days and glut yourselves on all of humankind’s earthly delights.

You and Rafael had had it all planned out a week in advance: You were going to put on your Friday night best, plop down on the best seats in the house, down a few drinks to make you let loose, and keep your eyes peeled for the best-looking of the night, the worst-looking, and what you’d be willing to go home with if you had the right amount of alcohol in your systems. With your love of those that beamed wildness beneath the innocent demeanor and Rafael’s keen eye for peoples’ weaknesses, the both of you were sure to come out with a pleasurable evening.

This was, of course, the parade of bad choices that is Friday Bride Day on TLC.

“That’s an awful dress,” Rafael commented, popping a pretzel into his mouth. You hummed an agreement against his chest, analyzing what the poor fool on TV had just slipped herself into. The cut was all weird, there were frills here and sheer there. You were confident that you, as you currently were, in your best college sweats, would have been a better vision of a bride than the lady currently was in that getup.

As the glittery box showcasing the price showed up, you cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. $17000 for that?

“Not to mention out of her initial price range,” you muttered. Rafael echoed your previous hum.

“This is the one she’s gonna pick. But hey, that’s okay,” he picked up sarcastically. “She can just call up ‘Daddykins’, insist how she needs this dress, and he’ll bend over backwards to assure that she can have this one dress worth more than their car, which she will only wear once.” He shrugged. “May need to put in a mortgage on the house but …”

You nodded along to his commentary as you shoved a fistful of popcorn into your mouth, eyes still trained on the screen.

“ ��� I’m saying yes!” the white-clad blonde proclaimed in a shrill voice, adding an excited little wiggle to her decision. Well, at least some designer was getting paid instead of the punch to the knuckles that they deserved.

“Yaaayyy,” you murmured in unison. It was a notedly droning one, complete with lazily raised hands that slapped back down to your laps and sides once the effort of being excited proved to be too much for the moment.

As the screen cut to interviewing the bride about her dress and to her mother, who was agreeing that the dress was “without a doubt ‘her daughter’”, you couldn’t help but continue to critique the end result. “She should’ve gone with the first once she tried on,” you insisted. “It was all nice and frilly … It wasn’t anything crazy new or out there, but at least it was nice.”

“They never do,” sighed Rafael as he slowly shook his head.

“No …” you admitted. There was a shared moment of silence between the two of you as the episode came to an end and the next one began. As the camera focused in on the Kleinfeld assistants being given their usual morning lecture, you lightheartedly glanced up at Rafael. “But I would’ve loved to see you in it, Rafaelito.” You emphasized your comment with a gentle pat to his cheek.

Rafael, however, wasn’t on the same level as you. “Seriously, (Y/N)?” he scoffed. “No seas ridículo, Cariño. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Vera Wang wedding dress. Those things are cursed.”

You pouted. “But maybe with your beauty, the curse would break itself out of shame.”

The small chuckle that fluttered out fizzled in his chest and tickled your ear that was still pressed against it. “ ‘Beauty,’ you say? I had no idea that I was anything more than surly and perpetually ready to punch somebody in the throat.”

“Mhmm,” you insisted. As you stretched and yawned against your beloved’s torso, you managed to grunt out, “Rafael is the prettiest guy in New York City. All the dresses want to fit him like a glove. Even the cursed ones.” By the way he exhaled, you could tell that he was smirking.

As he playfully pinched your cheek between two knuckles, Rafael confirmed: “Segúro que sí.”

Returning back to the show, he found himself visually insulted by sewn-together monstrosity passing for a dress being gleefully pulled from the selection by the bride of the episode. Immediately, his smirk fell. “Except for that one,” Rafael said quickly. “That dress is too awful for to feel sympathy for anyone, no matter how pretty.”

“Agreed.”

But perhaps this deviant behavior is actually a key to unlocking the mystery of bisexuality. This never-ending venture through the many chapters of the id has proven to be a point of interest to psychologists and sexperts alike, who collectively suggest that this constant search to fulfill an impossible high is the bisexual wandering in a constant state of confusion. With a lack of understanding in their own identity, their place in life, and an entire flurry of other complications, the bisexual is in a constant state of limbo: Lost, uncertain, and with the stability of a broken bridge.

“Lupita Nyong’o.”

“Definitely. Cute smile, pretty eyes, altogether sweet girl. A younger Richard Gere.”

“Well, if that’s the case, then just say you like Jon Bernthal. They look alike, you’d get the same cute smile and everything.”

“I’m counting that as your turn. Anyway, Sofía Vergara.”

“Eeeehhhh …”

“What’s wrong with Sofía?”

“Nothing, it’s just … Wasn’t she in The Smurfs movie?”

“We are not holding that against her,” Rafael asserted crossly. He topped it off with an especially pronounced spoonful of cereal. It was Tuesday night, and the both of you were too tired from work to cook up dinner. But you were also too hungry to withstand the half-hour wait for delivery. Cereal for dinner it was.

Somewhere along the way, it had turned to dinner and a show – or, rather, a showcase of people whom you both found attractive. Neither you nor Rafael could recall how or why it started in the first place but whatever the case, it had since evolved. Not necessarily into revelations over one another’s tastes, but more so a way to critique each other’s very tastes. And so far, no one was truly winning. At least, not for long.

“Okay, well what about . . . Chris Pine!” you enthused.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Rafael bounced his spoon in rhythm to his tutting. “We agreed: None of the Chrises. It’s too obvious.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a gushy grin worthy of any schoolgirl. “Well, yeah, but … But he’s just so cute!” The smile flew loose from its weak captivity and released a series of fawning over “how blue” his eyes were, and how he “still uses a flip phone like a nerd.” Rafael, however, was not as swayed by Chris Pine’s unchronological appeal.

“Mi alma, he looks like stock footage of a poster you’d see in the room of a teenage girl in a movie,” he attempted to tease. You shot him a glare for his very specific description.

“Chris Pine is a goddamn treasure, and his name and likeness will not be besmirched in this household! He made me feel things in Wonder Woman!” You slammed a hand to your heart for effect. You leaned in closer and whispered, “Feelings I thought I had ripped out of me to better survive in this world, only to learn that they made me stronger.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. It was after work hours and he’d exhausted the best of his attorney abilities; he didn’t feel like even trying too hard to win this argument. Best to just let you have this one. For now. He dug around in his bowl, collecting cereal.

“Oh, that reminds me: Lynda Carter,” he said between bites.

You cocked your head in consideration, chewing on the thought, before subtly nodding. “Mm. Yeah, I can see that.”

A short, incredulous chuckle escaped from him. “What was with the hesitation? It’s Wonder Woman. The original Wonder Woman!”

“I mean, yeah, definitely, she’s gorgeous but … Now whenever I think Wonder Woman, I think Gal Gadot.” To further get across your point, you added, “Talented, sweet-hearted, athletic, smart, Gal Ga-freaking-dot!” This managed to coax a chortle out of your dining mate.

“Okay, okay, both of them. Both are fine.” Rafael then flashed that smirk of his. “Glad to know you really do have tastes outside of me, Cariño.” Before you could throw acidic words back at him, Rafael hurried in with, “George Clooney.”

That stopped you. Your brow wrinkled in slight disbelief. “George Cloo – Oh, Rafi!” you exclaimed, your tone heavy with what could only be described as pity and disappointment. You even cocked your head to the side, as if changing the angle would make you comprehend what you were hearing any better. Meanwhile, confusion startled itself onto Rafael’s face.

“What? George Clooney is – is a classy man and – ” he struggled to defend.

“And he’s a total cliché, that’s what!” you interrupted.

“He’s not a cliché, he’s an attractive man and everyone but you seems to understand that,” Rafael stated, adding in a purposefully snooty upturn of his nose. Had he looked down (or even not), he would be able to see that this only riled you up further.

“Well, if you’re gonna put him out there, then I’m using another Chris!” you declared. Your threat of calling another Chris from the pack caused Rafael to lower his head in an instant.

“Honey, no, we agreed – ”

“Chrissss,” you went on, “Pratt.” You made sure to snap the ‘t’ off with especial vigor.

At the clarification by way of surnaming your choice, Rafael’s countenance once again returned to confusion. “Chris Pratt?” he inquired. “Not Hemsworth?” You shook your head, confirming that he had, indeed, heard you correctly.

“I find Christopher ‘Thor’ Hemsworth’s lack of tummy disturbing.” You placed a spoonful of cereal in your mouth to signify your dedication to the subject.

“What is it with you and men’s stomachs!?” Rafael cried. You gave him no answer. He knew you wouldn’t.

“Idris Elba,” he sighed, having been forced to give up on you.

“Yes. God, yes,” you willfully agreed. It was now your turn. You tapped the tip of your spoon against the corner of your mouth as you put yourself in thought. Eyes turned up, you searched your mental catalog, trying to recall who you already voiced, whom Rafael had already named, who would be too obvious, and then – you found them:

“Jeffrey. Dean. Morgan.” You punctuated every name with precise wave of your spoon. Tall, funny, plays a lovable bad guy so well, and a silver fox: A mighty fine choice, in your (superior) opinion.

As he began to process your most recent addition to your list, Rafael’s brows pushed downward.

“Jeffrey Dean Morgan,” he repeated slowly, as if trying to get a feel for the name himself. He then pursed his lips critically. “(Y/N), he’s old enough to be your father.”

You shrugged, albeit with an obvious lack of true consideration of Rafael’s point. “Yeah, well, you know . . . He’s not.” You seemed to leave it at that as you leaned toward your bowl of cereal. From the way your voice trailed, he took it as a sign of self-accepted defeat.

Rafael soundlessly scoffed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head for good measure. You sure had weird tastes and no right to question his at this rate. It was quiet for the next moment, with Rafael trying to think of whomever else he found attractive, and with the both of you chewing your newest respectful spoonfuls.

Therefore, with the silence settling in, it was quite easy for Rafael to hear you quickly mutter into your bowl, “Sure is my Daddy™, though.”

The rest of the silence was shattered by the dramatically bombastic sound of Rafael coughing over a piece of cereal that he had carelessly allowed to fall the wrong way.

Knowing that he would be fine, you tried to hide the evil smirk growing on your face. You’d won.

With these characteristics taken into consideration, it has become common proposition that bisexuality is, in fact, a phase. One powered not necessarily by the inevitable changes of life that may drive other stages, but more so by the individual’s determination to be different by any means necessary, regardless of deviancy. It is this sort of decision, which can potentially span across a lifetime, that impacts not only people like Rafael and (Y/N), but their loved ones as well.

You decided that you liked Eddie Garcia. You had only met the man a handful of times before and never had any reason to dislike him, per se, but tonight, you knew for certain: Eddie Garcia was a sweetheart and an all-around pleasant guy to be with, so long as you were on his good side. The revelation that he had been one of the secret-keepers of Rafael’s sexuality growing up, and had even created more of a protective presence for him also did plenty for how you viewed the man.

Plus, being one of the Three Musketeers of Jerome Avenue, Eddie had access to even more embarrassing Rafael stories than even Lucia! Especially once you got a little liquor in his system. Of course, you hadn’t truly known this in full depth before. But tonight, in an effort to keep in touch better, Rafael had invited Eddie over for some drinks. And lord, were the three of you having one hell of a time filling the apartment with all kinds of laughter, spurred on with every sip taken and every story recounted.

“ – and so then, Eddie finally lets me handle his BB gun. I was feeling cool, I swore I was the hottest little shit,” Rafael carried on. You nodded, eagerly awaiting the next fragment of the story. From his position at the table, Eddie was shaking, trying to hold in his own laughter as he recalled in his own head exactly what had gone down in his old friend’s story.

“I don’t even know where the hell I was aiming or even what at, I just remember pulling that trigger, hearing glass shattering, and seeing everybody else scrambling to get away from me. Eddie left me in the middle of the street with that damn gun still in my hands and I’m going, ‘What are we gonna do!?’ and Eddie – still running, mind you, yells back, ‘Whaddya mean ‘we’!?’”

In an instant, Eddie gave way to howling out in laughter. Stuck in your own fit, you had no time to determine whether his face was red from roaring or from the alcohol intake.

Between his gasps for air, Eddie threw in, “And – and the best part was that Mr. Viteri never did find out what happened to his car window!” before getting sucked back into the mindless merriment.

You giggled in hiccups as you tried to down another gulp of this evening’s poison of choice.

“Dang, Rafi! I and thought what you did to impress Lauren Sullivan was bad,” you teased. Rafael shrugged, lop-sided smile present as he raised his glass of scotch to his lips. Eddie’s expression, however, became one of bewilderment. He sat up straight, brows creased over eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Lauren Sullivan? You thought Lauren Sullivan was the worst of it!? Naw, sweetie, she wasn’t the worst one,” Eddie insisted, his hand slapped the air as if to wave all assumptions out. It was only after this that he appeared to pause to recollect his thought. “Wait. Wait, Rafi,” Eddie’s attention flew to Rafael. “Rafi, you never told her about Antonio?” At the sound of that name, you noticed Rafael’s face become flushed, further emphasizing the wideness of his eyes. Oh, this was about to be delicious.

“No, he hasn’t,” you responded, cutting off the stammered attempt of a reply Rafael had been trying to get out. “But please: Tell me more about this ‘Antonio.’ Was he another one of Rafi’s little friends?” You propped your elbows on your knees as you leaned forward with baited breath.

“ ‘Friend’? Ha! More like his obsession!” Eddie corrected before taking a sip of his beer. Once he was satisfied, he leaned back in his seat as if to mimic a wise storyteller. “Antonio Espinosa – or Tony, as we were lucky enough to call him, in Rafi’s opinion. He was in the grade above us, and Rafael was not-so-quietly smitten by him behind his back. And at first, you could see why: he had the hair, the smile, had a cute lil freckle on his face…”

With every description Eddie provided, Rafael slouched further and further into his seat. It was as if the memory of Tony was pushing him downward as it rose up. While his features never entirely expressed such, you surmised that Eddie was relishing in Rafael’s growing embarrassment just as much as you were. Maybe even more.

“Problem was, Tony couldn’t dress for shit! Boy wore a cheap leather jacket to school on picture day, slicked back his hair with his papi’s shoe polish – while trying to grow a mullet. Walked around wearing this crappy pair of leather pants, looked like a walking garbage bag! Stunk of his papi’s cheap cologne, tried to make up slang to come off as hot shit … And Rafi ate. It. Up. Pobre estúpido, ¿qué estaba pensando?”

You couldn’t tell which was funnier: The toothy, proud grin Eddie wore as he taunted your sweetheart’s crappy tastes, or the red face that Rafael was trying to hide behind his hands, ashamed that his classy reputation was being dismantled by one flaw in the system.

“Rafael!” you squealed. “He sounds so tacky – You can’t talk about my tastes anymore!”

Rafael muttered through his fingers, “Jesus, I can still see that mullet …” The glare he slipped between his fingers failed miserably. “Look, you like what’s in proximity, okay? Tony was nearby and he wasn’t … bad.”

“Well, not in the traditional sense. But, oh, he wanted to be, (Y/N). Wanted to be the designated bad boy of our block,” Eddie snarked into the lip of his bottle.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the idea. “Rafi? Having a thing for a bad boy!?”

Eddie nodded. “A bad boy who wore crappy jeans he painted dollar bills on, no less.” That summoned a rippling chortle from you as you slapped your hand on the table in defeat. Rafael, having since released his burning face from his hands, grouchily poured himself a full glass of whiskey to temporarily distract himself.

The two of you couldn’t stop laughing soon enough in his opinion.

“Seriously, though, (Y/N), I think we both can agree that I protected Rafi from more than just bullies: I protected him from himself,” Eddie stated. He flashed a mischievous grin. “If I didn’t help keep him grounded, he would’ve started to dress like Tony just to get his attention. He seriously was considering saving up for a members only jacket – a red one, so Tony would know he was bold!”

“It was – It was fashionable at the time, I thought if he saw me in it, he’d think I was cool!” Rafael attempted to defend. Unfortunately, flustered and being full of alcohol was not the best state to be in when trying to use your lawyering skills.

“No, mi bien amigo. You honestly would’ve been cooler if you went with the leather jacket and pants – and that’s still a poor fit for you.”

“I dunno, Eddie,” you offered, biting your smiling lip. “Leather jackets are a pretty bisexual thing … I have a few myself, I’m surprised Rafi doesn’t have at least one.”

“Come on, now, (Y/N), could you see this one” (Eddie gestured to Rafael, who suddenly seemed heavily interested in the nutrition label of the scotch bottle) “wearing a leather jacket all the damn time? Or even at all!?”

Both pairs of eyes turned back to the man in question. Apparently Rafael had grown bored with all the nutrition whiskey had to offer and was now finding entertainment with the button on his sleeve.

You pursed your lips, then nodded once. “I can see that. Might even be sexy.”

This coaxed a raspberry from Eddie. “Wow, keep making up claims like that and you’ll be a better lawyer than Rafi.”

You shook your head, continuing, “But I dunno; ‘Rafael Barba’ doesn’t sound enough like a bad boy worthy of the leather.”

“What about ‘Ramirez’?” Eddie suggested. “ ‘Rafael Ramirez’: The baddest boy of Jerome Avenue.”

“Working title. But location names are good for bad boys. Like Arizona Ramirez!”

As you and Eddie were preoccupied with your various states of drunken laughter and name-giving, Rafael had begun to down his scotch with a mad fervor. Maybe if he drank enough, he wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning and, perhaps, even forget the brief yet monstrous Tony Phase of his life.

He did not. And apparently, neither did you, as a few days later Rafael returned home to find a leather jacket just his size laid out on the bed.

If this is, indeed, the case, then it would be sufficient to come to the conclusion that bisexuals do not truly exist in any form beyond the theoretical.

Rafael gave his tie one last tug and considered his reflection. After taking a moment to observe how it looked on him, how it harmonized with his suit and pocket square and even socks, he gave in: He would have to thank you for convincing him to buy this. It was legions better than the color gradient one he was worried he’d have to consider settling on. It wasn’t unusual for the great Rafael Barba to don immaculate clothing both in and out of court. And anyone who knew him or had seen how he dressed would find nothing out of the ordinary with today’s tie.

But with every stripe of the pink, purple, and blue pattern, there was meaning. There was pride.

Pride in who he was, in the person he was with. There was even a bit of pride and support for the person whom he was set to defend in today’s trial. It was entirely coincidental that their trial landed on September 23rd. Rafael was sure that it had meaning to them, just as it held meaning to himself. But the truth was, with not too many people seeing it as such, today as another day with  another case.

In this, however, they could easily just assume that this was yet another one of Rafael Barba’s famously colorful ensembles. They wouldn’t likely pick up on his agenda, just assume that it was “Barba being Barba.” If today’s first part of the trial didn’t necessarily work out, he could at least have the ability to wordlessly console his client and let them know that he was going to fight like hell for them. He considered that a victory. A small one, but one nonetheless.

Making sure that his shirt was tucked in, pink-and-black suspenders in place, cologne thoughtfully applied, and his hair neatly styled, Rafael called out to you that he was preparing to commute to work.

Your reflection soon joined his from behind, entering the proximity from your previous location at the table with breakfast. A small smile eased its way onto Rafael’s lips as he regarded your own apparel: Pink blouse, purple skirt, blue flats.

As he turned around to face you and reveal the front of his own outfit, a small, syrupy gasp escaped from your ever-growing smile. Your hands flew up to your mouth as you fawned over your dapper man.

“Oh, Rafi,” you gushed, “you look so proud and handsome!”

Ever one for praise, Rafael not-so-subtly basked in your compliment with a raised head and that crooked smile of his that you loved so much. “I thought I always looked this good,” he joked lightly.

You nodded vibrantly. “Oh, you do. But today, you look even more handsome because it’s an outfit that I helped coordinate!” You expressed your pride through small but gleeful and rapid claps using the tips of your fingers.

A small puff of a chortle passed Rafael’s lips as he allowed his smile to grow. You were quite lively this morning. “Fair enough,” he allowed, collecting his briefcase by his feet and making a beeline towards the door.

“Now what do you say?” you said as you followed him.

Even from your position behind him, you could tell that proud and flattered smile of his had since converted into one of mischief. “I am afraid that I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he claimed.

“Rafiiiiii,” you pouted, playing along with his claim.

“What? I really don’t!” Rafael swore, turning around to greet your trailing figure. He didn’t even bother hiding his crooked smirk. The nerve of this man!

“Rafael!” you snapped. You tried to come off as intimidating, but your amusement was obvious. It was hard work looking upset when you were fighting back a laugh.

Thankfully, you needn’t hold it in for long: Rafael’s own chuckle fluttered out of him as he gave in to your insistence. “Si, si, gracias, mi alma,” he murmured. “You have excellent taste.” He then leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

Your blush and smile bloomed beneath his lips, his kiss serving as the sun. “De nada, Rafaelito,” you whispered.

You didn’t want your sweetheart to go. And Rafael didn’t exactly want to separate himself from this warm moment, either. But a job is a job, and he was about to be late for his if he didn’t get a move on soon. Sighing quietly with acceptance, he mumbled against your hair, “I have to go now, Cariño.”

Your smile faltered, but only slightly. “Gotta represent?” you spoke. The attempt to liven up the mood gave Rafael a reason to gently beam.

“You know it.” He didn’t dare move as you stood on your toes to press a peck for good luck on his cheek.

Whilst still extending yourself, you implored, “Go get ‘em, Rafaelito. Show them what happens when you invoke the wrath of the bi-furious!”

Once again, you managed to coax a small laugh out of him.

Gently insisting that he would, Rafael pressed his lips to yours for one last kiss to hold him over for the rest of the day, telling you he loved you. He almost regretted it, as it only made it harder for him to leave. However, your work needed you, his client needed him, and he needed to prove a point to the jury and the public.

And if that point required him to give the defendant hell, then Rafael would, indeed, induce “the wrath of the bi-furious.” He would never dream of giving anything less.

From these observations, we can only conclude that the self-proclaimed “bisexual” is unlikely to lead an entirely wholesome life. Until they confront their circumstances and contradictories and make an effort to correct their circumstances of sex and hedonistic pursuit, bisexuals such as Rafael or (Y/N) will be unable to achieve a sense of completion. A lifestyle of monogamy and happiness are decidedly incompatible with a force that refuses to change for the betterment of the individual’s physical, mental, and emotional health.

You weren’t sure what hit you first: The sound of music, or the realization that Rafael wasn’t in bed next to you. Regardless, you awoke with a quiet groan and your fist gently gripping at the part of the bed he usually occupied. The more you came to, the more you began to realize how cool his half of the bed was, signifying that he’d actually been gone for a while. And the more you came to, the more you began to recognize the song: Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E.” The Spanish version. It came echoing out of the bathroom, rising above the hiss of the shower.

As you gained further consciousness, you could just make out an extra voice singing along: Rafi’s voice.

“ –Sé todo lo que me dirás, Ha de darme la felicidad. Dime pronto qué es ‘amor’ Que tu palabra espero Háblame de nuestro amor – ”

At the sound of his voice, a sleepy smile grew upon your face. Rafi used to sing it all the time during your second year of dating –

At this recollection, you willed your eyes open, forcing the sleep and initial disappointment over Rafael’s absence away. You knew what today was. And now you were halfway tempted to join him in the shower. To your dismay, the creak of the spout handle sounded, leaving only the sound of Rafael and Nat King Cole’s voices bouncing against the bathroom walls and lingering into the bedroom.

You didn’t even try to not look a bit disappointed when your singer finally rejoined you in the room, already dressed.

Upon realizing your awoken state, he released a small whine. “Maldito. I was hoping you’d stay asleep just a little while longer.”

You scoffed, “Well, if that was the case, then you shouldn’t have been blasting music and singing along to it.” You made sure to include the smile you’d really wanted to give him at the end of your accusation. Rubbing the last bit of sleep from your eyes, you pushed yourself into an upright position to better greet him.

“What? I thought you liked this song; at least, you loved it when I sang it,” Rafael smirked. As he approached his nightstand to put his watch back on, he looked upward in apparent thought. “I wonder why I felt the need to play it?”

“Gee, I wonder why,” you played along, sarcasm hanging from every word.

Rafael pretended to consider the situation. “Maybe because it’s catchy?”

“Hm. Could be. But I don’t think that that’s the case today.”

“Well, I do,” Rafael shrugged. “So I guess that must be it –”

“Rafi,” you jokingly warned.

“I know, I know,” he finally gave in. With his smile becoming less impish and more sincere, he gently pulled you into a hug. “Happy anniversary, corazón.” A warm, pleasant feeling trickled down your skin as you felt him whisper into your hair.

Wrapping your arms around his waist, you looked up at those eyes you loved so much. “Happy anniversary, Rafaelito,” you returned, sealing it with a kiss. The embraces on one another only tightened with the newest sign of affection. The two of you would have potentially stayed like this a bit longer, had Rafael’s playlist not gone on to the next song.

At the sound of the rhythmic drumbeats, followed in by a bouncy flow of piano, you found Rafael’s lips had detached from your own.

“Oh, no …” you muttered as you watched the smile on Rafael’s face grow. “Ra –”

Rafael was unraveling the hug and pulling you  off of the bed and to his chest before you could even finish whatever it was you were planning on saying.

“Oh, come on, honey,” he persisted as he noticed you putting up some resistance. “Dance with me a little!”

You shook your head like a stubborn child. “It’s too early!” you tried reasoning.

“It’s never too early or late for Benny Moré! I’m feeling quite lively this fine morning.”

“You’ve been up longer! And besides …” You bit your lip. “You know I can’t keep up with ‘La Cocaleca.’”

“And you never will unless you actually try dancing to it,” Rafael pointed out.

“You sure are lively, Rafi,” you said. “Our anniversary should be every day if it means you’ll be like this more.”

Rafael rolled his eyes. “Just come here and follow my lead.”

You weren’t entirely joking when you had said earlier that every day should be your anniversary. It always seemed to bring out the brighter part of Rafael’s personality. The part that very few were privy to.

You were lucky enough to be one of those very few. You were also lucky enough to be the one who got to hold his hand now, as you walked the streets of the city. You had long since given up on trying to figure out where you were headed. Instead, you’d decided to relish in how you hand entwined with his and how he made no qualms against you laying your cheek against his shoulder as the two of you appeared to be walking aimlessly around the area. Even if you were fighting back a growling stomach, empty due to being ushered out of the apartment without breakfast.

Rafael could easily go without a genuine meal, becoming so used to having to snack throughout his days between paperwork and visits to the precinct. You, however, were not as used to it. It also puzzled you a bit that he would even choose to forgo breakfast at all considering that the man loved to actually eat when he could.

You had your suspicions, but kept them to yourself.

“Okay, we’re here,” Rafael spoke, breaking you from your reverie. As you took a moment to gather your surroundings, you found yourself in front of a very familiar café: Café Adelaida. A hint of pride became evident on Rafael’s face as he felt your grip tighten with realization.

As he began to lead you inside of the establishment, the two of you were hit with the smells of coffee and culinary masterpieces, the sounds of dishes and silverware clashing, and people chattering in English and Spanish alike.

“I remember this place: This is the first non-work place we ever went to,” you breathed. Your sparkling eyes flickered from corner to corner, reliving that day and remembering what used to be where, thankful that very little had changed since then.

Rafael chuckled by your side. “Yep: This was where we had our first date,” he confirmed.

“Is that what you want to call it?” you asked tauntingly. “I thought you took me here to prove the superiority of Cuban coffee to American coffee.”

“What, I couldn’t do both? Besides, you should be thanking me: Without this place, you never would’ve known the miracle that is café con leche.” Normally, you would have playfully swatted at his arm for boasting. However, at the prospect of getting some genuine café con leche after such a long hiatus from it, your mouth watered. You would let Rafael have this. For now.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have eaten so much,” you whimpered. The weight of the authentic Cuban food you’d eaten a little less than half an hour ago was beginning to hit you. Added in with the fact that you’d been woken up relatively early on a Saturday, and the feeling of sleep was beginning to massage your eyes.

Rafael, interestingly enough, appeared to be wide awake.

“I told you not to push yourself if you couldn’t finish it all in one go,” he reminded. There was a hint of mockery in his tone.

You scowled. “You probably ate more than I did, how are you not ready to collapse onto the pavement!?”

“Because first off, ew. But secondly, I’m a man on a mission. Sube a mi nivel, amor.” He shot you a cocky smirk at that last sentence. If you weren’t so curious as to what kind of mission he was on, you would’ve found motivation to keep up with Rafael by that look of his alone.

Thankfully, you needn’t keep the pace up for too long. A few shortcuts and you found yourself in the park. Thank God, now you could take a seat –

“Not there,” Rafael said as he gave your hand a small tug. You raised an eyebrow but followed his lead. But after looking back on the bench you had nearly sat upon, you realized it had one too many bird dropping stains on it. Good call, Rafi… . And yet, when you came upon the next bench, he did the same thing: “Sorry, sweetie. Not that one, either.”

“Come on, Rafi, I need to sit.”

“Just a little more, then I promise you can sit,” he assured. You gave in, finding no real point in putting up a fuss. For as tired as you were getting, the scenery around you was sure helping you feel better.

It was a lovely day for a stroll around the park: The sun was out, the smell of the blossoms in the trees were carried by the wind, and people were out with their children, dogs, or their own loved ones. You considered stopping for a moment to bask in the stimuli, but Rafael appeared to be focused elsewhere. Interestingly, however, that “elsewhere” was a bench. Not even one with a dedication plaque on it, but a regular, black bench positioned by a small, wiry tree and a previously-planted patch of pansies.

“Okay, (Y/N),” Rafael allowed. “Now you can sit.” He held your hand as you not-so-gracefully plopped your tired body down on the seat. Sighing with relief, you closed your eyes and took in the sounds of the wind in the trees and squeals of laughter from the playset down yonder. The warmth of Rafael’s body soon resonated from your side as he joined you.

“Do you remember this place?” you heard him ask.

“How can I forget the park?” you asked, eyes still closed.

You heard a small laugh. “No, I mean this bench. Do you remember it?”

Opening your eyes, you looked around you. The more you looked, the more you couldn’t help but feel like maybe this wasn’t a regular bench after all. But you couldn’t quite place where this was …

“It’s where we had our first kiss,” Rafael quietly reminded you, gently squeezing your hand at the thought. In an instant, the memories came flooding back. It had been at dusk when the two of you first sat here together, hence why you had trouble remembering it. Everything looks different when it’s darker. But then, everything also looks different when you’re locked in a kiss with someone you feel greatly for.

“How did you remember it was exactly here?” you asked, eyes widened.

“How could I not?” he replied. At this, you slouched in your place on the bench.

“Well, now I feel like crap. I couldn’t remember it …”

“I think I have a way of making you feel better, then,” Rafael offered as he gingerly turned your head to face him.

As much as you enjoyed the stimuli of the soft, sweet breeze and how it carried the smells of the flowers and the sounds of laughter and children at play, it was all so easily drowned out once you found yourself sharing yet another memorable kiss in the place where a new chapter in your relationship had begun.

You were thankful that Rafael decided not to make you suffer again by walking back home. A cab ride may not be entirely romantic (especially after reliving an important stage in one’s relationship), but it sure beat the trouble of arriving home sweaty and too exhausted to get ready for dinner. Not that you were even certain that you could ever be too tired to want to go out Even if you weren’t the biggest fan of fancy dining, doing so with Rafael always made it more tolerable.

However, you might’ve been too eager in your efforts to ready yourself: The cab wasn’t due for another half hour and you’d been sitting on the couch with Rafael the entire time. Not that you truly minded it. Sure, the exchange between you two or lack thereof was quiet, but it was a good kind of quiet. From the way you both took quick glances at each other and held hands in wait against the backdrop of music he’d left on, it was almost adorable. It felt a lot like how it had been when you’d first started dating, if Rafi were a more open person at the time.

It was in this shared moment of silence that the playlist went to its next selection:

So when it rains, I’ll shield your head And when you cry, I’ll wipe those tears. Because it’s you, through all these years, And I’m still in love with you …

“Huh,” Rafael hummed. “This takes me back.”

You tried not to bite your lip and disturb the makeup on it. “Don’t make yourself sound so old, Rafi,” you cooed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Cariño,” he mumbled. “I meant, this brings back a lot of memories for me.”

“Really?” you purred, scooching closer. “Like what?”

Rafael licked his lips in thought. “Well … I once heard this at a bar I went to after a rough day at court. Reminded me how lonely and pathetic I was.”

You nodded. “And?”

“And once, I heard it at a department store when I was shopping for new cologne.”

You pressed your lips together. These weren’t quite the answers you were looking for. “And what else?”

“What else is there?” Rafael prodded. You gently nudged him, knowing that he knew darn well what you were getting at.

“Come on, Rafi, you remember which bench we were on when we first kissed but not what this song means to us?”

“I am afraid that I do not.”

Your frustrated sigh was betrayed by the fact that it came from a smirking mouth. “This is the song you first told me you loved me to.”

Rafael cocked his head as if to mimic the process of thinking. “Is it?”

“Yes!”

“Bueno, mirate,” he finally gave in. “Looks like you have quite the memory on you as well, princesa.” As his thumb grazed across the back of your hand, you couldn’t help but nuzzle at his neck as you recalled that moment: You’d been trying to get him to relax after a tense week. Perhaps your methods had worked too well, as after a couple of minutes spent massaging his shoulders, he uttered out his confession. You’d never seen him so relaxed. And you never thought you’d see him in such a state again.

A sigh of content flowed passed your lips as you enjoyed the feeling of Rafael’s caresses. The remainder of the wait was spent listening to the way he sang in whispers.

“So when the day turns into night, I know that everything’s alright. Because it’s you, through all these years, And I’m still in love with you …”

You knew you should have given Rafael his anniversary gift this morning, before he’d dragged you out of the apartment. Curse Benny Moré and his beautiful voice and its ability to bewitch even the likes of Rafael Barba to dance at nine in the morning. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy all that Rafi had done for you – far from it! Even dinner at a restaurant that required a reservation turned out to be a delightful affair. But now, as you wiped away your makeup and changed into clothes suited for comfort, you couldn’t help but feel … insecure.

Rafael was never one for half-measures: If he wanted to get a point across, then he darn well did it. You both loved this quality and felt a bit rushed by it. Sometimes, he made it so hard for you to keep up with him and gave him back exactly what he gave you. You wanted to make sure that the happiness he supplied you with was returned at the same amount. If not, tenfold!

But how is one to keep up with reliving important relationship firsts and an evening out at a hard-to-get-into facility? How could your gift compare to his?

“Cariño,” you heard Rafael call from the living room.

Drat. It was too late to toss it out of the window and pretend that you’d ordered something that had gotten lost in the mail.

With the shaky sigh, you resigned delaying the inevitable. You willed your hands to not shake the rectangular package wrapped in pastel blue paper and proceeded to where your significant other was.

As you entered the room, Rafael appeared to be messing with the stereo.

That man and his music, you thought, taking a seat on the couch. If he thought he was going to get you twirling and twisting to more Benny Moré on a full stomach, then he had another thing coming. Thankfully, the sound of brass and percussion instruments never pierced the air, even as he appeared to be finished with whatever task he had put himself up to.

Swiveling to meet your sitting form, Rafael neared you with a purpose before stopping just before you.

After clearing his throat (which caused you to roll your eyes at the theatrics), Rafael began to extent his hand. “Cariño,” he repeated. “Would you please –”

“Wait!” You had to admit, you startled yourself by blurting that out in the midst of Rafael’s sentence. Now you went and made it awkward. “Uh …” you stammered. “I … I –” With no other thoughts to fall back on, you softly directly the package in your hands to Rafael. “Before we do anything else, please open my gift …” You hadn’t meant to sound so quiet or uncertain. You wanted to take the box back and smack it into your face.

Rafael, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind, taking a seat on the cushion next to you and accepting the parcel from you.

“Careful,” you instructed. “There’s glass.” You said nothing more as you watched him gingerly peel back the wrapping to reveal your gift.

It was a shadow box. One you’d made over the course of the last few months whenever he was out. Your silhouettes, white and standing in the foreground, were further emphasized by the vivid imagery that served as the background: Stickers of Spanish phrases, pictures of the two of you, of him at work or cooking. Stickers of coffee mugs and sandwiches and of the Cuban and American flag. Images of the people both of you found attractive. There was even a textured sticker of a leather jacket pasted in one corner, with “Ramirez” scrawled on the back in gold sharpie. And, dangling from a white ribbon at the top of the box, was the first ring he’d ever bought you.

It was a Valentine’s Day gift, you wore the thing to practical death until Rafael convinced you to move on to something cleaner and less scratched up. He didn’t know that you kept the thing in your jewelry box until now.

Rafael said nothing as he began to realize the components of the box in his lap, and it made you nervous. You anxiously began to twirl a lock of hair and began muttering.

“I know it’s not expensive or crazy out-there or anything but …” You trailed. But what? There was no butt. You had no excuses; you just couldn’t keep up with the likes of Rafael Barba.

He said nothing, slowly placing the shadow box onto the coffee table. You tried not to sigh in disappointment and embarrassment. Well. So much for ending the evening with –

A small squeak slipped out of you as you found yourself being pressed flush against Rafael’s chest, his arms wasting no time to wrap themselves around you in a world of warmth. But what was even warmer was the way his words puffed into your hair as he murmured a thank you. And it sounded so genuine. You couldn’t believe it.

“Bu – ” Once again, you were cut off. This time, by the constant peppering of kisses along your face. In between every other peck were coos of “thank you” and how much the kisser himself appreciated your gift.

“But,” you attempted again, “you went and did all this other neat stuff! You even remembered all these firsts …” At this, Rafael stopped his flattery and maintained eye contact.

“Not every first. I mean, not yet …”

Your eyes would’ve popped from your head had your brows not pressed downward in disbelief.

“You mean there’s more!?” you cried. “I can’t keep up!”

“But I really loved what you gave me, Cari –”

“You did all this thoughtful stuff and all I got you was a high school art project,” you whimpered, pressing your hands to your face in shame. It therefore frustrated you to hear the man beside you actually chuckling in your moment of dramatic despair.

“Ahem,” you groused. You lowered your hands to reveal a glare. “I’m in distress, here, Rafi, let me mope.”

“Si, si, I can see that,” Rafael said. “Pero mira: I’m serious. I really do love your gift. It’s something only you could give me, and it’s something I’d only accept from you.” In sincerity, he placed a hand on your cheek to caress it. “And speaking of accepting …” Reaching at the coffee table, he retrieved the remote to the stereo and clicked the play button.

With the whirring of it spring to life, it did not take long for the air to be filled, once more, with the sound of a very familiar song. Only it wasn’t rowdy and heavy like “La Cocaleca”, or even low and slow like “Still in Love with You.” It wasn’t even in necessarily bouncy in the way that “L-O-V-E” was.

It was the only song to truly strike a chord with in you that evening, the only song to make you forget all your worries for the moment and gasp. The hand that flew to your mouth caught a sliver of tear that managed to escape your eye.

It was the first song that you and Rafael had danced to as husband and wife.

It took Rafael clearing his throat once more and offering his hand to you yet again for you to reel yourself back in.

“(Y/N) – mi alma,” he spoke, eyes still transfixed on your own. “¿Me concedes éste baile?”

In your excitement, you had forgotten words. However, you definitely didn’t forget how to take your husband’s hand and all but launch yourself at him as he chuckled, putting his unoccupied hand at your waist as he led you to more open ground.

“It only took a kiss to know this: Baby, I’m in love with you. One look is all it took To say, ‘I do.’ And baby, when you smile, I’d walk a mile Oh, just to be with you For a chance at that glance That says, ‘Me too.’”

In the midst of your simplistic swaying, you could hear him humming along to the first verse. You could poke fun at him all you wanted to about his habit of singing in the privacy of his home; you felt blessed to be able to hear him do it at all. You couldn’t help but squeeze his hand, tempted to join with him.

“So when it comes to those other guys, This may come as no surprise: I don’t get jealous; I don’t worry ‘Cause I’m with you.”

Damn the temptation.

“It only took a kiss – but what a kiss! And baby, I love you,” you joined in. “What a look – oh your look – That says, ‘I do’! And baby, I agree: I’d rather be Nowhere else but here, my dear. There’s no place – I feel so safe! – Than here with you – ”

“Then here with you,” your partner echoed. Harmonizing, you sang in unison:

“It’s like finding a penny and pickin’ it up And all day, you’ll have good luck. It only took a look – It only took a smile – It only took a kiss.”

As the song’s bridge in the form of a piano solo began, you couldn’t help but blush. No matter how often the two of you sang together, or how eager Rafael always ways to get you to sing at all, it always made you nervous. And considering the value of this song to you, the sense of unity and love that performing it so beautifully required – it all became too much.

You attempted to nuzzle your burning face into Rafael’s chest, but he apparently knew exactly what you were up to.

“A bit late in the night and marriage to still feel coy about this, isn’t it, (Y/N)?” he snickered. He laughed even more when you grumpily patted at his back with the hand that had been at his waist. “Five years and you still get flustered when I get you to sing.”

“Keep talking like that and see what happens,” you mumble-threatened, face still snug against his torso.

Rafael pursed his lips. “What’ll happen, then? I’m curious.” He pulled you away from your position against his middle to give you a twirl. By the time he allowed you back to him, your face was turned outward, your ear placed at the perfect position to hear his heart beat against your ear.

“I dunno … You know I have double the love to give, I could find somebody easy.” You immediately regretted such a joke. It just wasn’t the kind of thing anyone would want to hear whilst dancing to the first song they played as a married couple, bisexual or not.

And yet, Rafael didn’t seem fazed at all. If anything, it might’ve been why a small smirk was now playing on his lips. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he said. “But me? Without you?” His hold on you tightened as you felt your body being lowered. At the end of the dip, Rafael pressed a loving kiss to your neck. “Eso es imposible.”

The goosebumps remained on your skin even as he pulled you back into an upright position.

“It only took a kiss,” Rafael sang along, daring you to follow.

“I know you say,” you followed.

“ – to know this: I’m in love with you –”

“ – you’re in love with me –”

“One look is all it took to say, ‘I do’ –”

“ – you know I love you, too –”

“And baby, when you smile –”

“Why should I question –”

“ – oh, just to be with you –”

“ – how I feel for you?”

“ – for a chance at that glance that says, ‘Me, too.’”

“You make me feel brand new,” you cuddled against your husband once more, feeling less nervous with every line you professed.

“So please believe me when I say,” the two of you chanted together, “I’ve never felt this way. And trust me with you heart – I knew right from the start –”

“It only took a look – it only took a smile – it only took a kiss.”

“It only took a look – it only took a smile – it only took a kiss,” you repeated, daring yourself to look up at the one you loved so much. The smiles you both shared were brighter than the lighting of the lamp in the corner of the room. The desire to pull him into one big kiss, expressing not nearly enough of what you could tell him, what you could thank him with – that was all you wanted in this moment. Just one more line in this song, to give him the sense of completion he always aimed for when he sang. Then you could do exactly what your heart was begging for you to do.

“It only took a look,” you whispered. “It only took a smile. It only –”

By the time you realized that Rafael had not been singing along with you anymore, it had become old news. At this moment, all you could remain aware of was the way his lips were pressed against yours and how his hands, no longer in your own or on your waist, were now cupping your cheek and holding your body even closer to his respectively. Without hesitation your own hands slipped up his back to hold him close. Any possibility of space between the two of you closed.

The sheer power and adoration that flowed into the affection were overwhelming. Beautiful. Warm. The concept of loneliness and confusion were nonexistent.

You sighed into the kiss, completely swept into a state of pure bliss. Four years dating, five years of marriage, and Rafael Barba still managed to surprise you and love you as if every day were the first day of your lives together.  

You were both lucky. You were both exceedingly blessed. For all the people you could have loved, even with double the possibilities of the average person, both you and Rafael were so happy and lucky to have found the half that was perfect for them.