# summary: Workaholic Emmanúela Yesenia Cortez Rivera has been nonstop since she learned how to walk. Always moving, always taking care of others. When her longtime boyfriend decides to cheat on her a week before their wedding, she finally has the breakdown needed to slow down and appreciate the small things in life: her friends and family in Puerto Rico. Returning to her roots, she is finally able to fully immerse herself in her culture, learning customs and even the language. But will a next door neighbor and world famous pop star get in her way, or is he there to help with the reinvention of herself?
# pairings: benito antonio martinez ocasio (bad bunny) x afro!latina fem oc
# warnings: this mini series delves into sensitive topics such as racial/ethnic identity of being biracial/afro latina, language barriers, colorism/texturism, religion, colonialism, and sexuality - RATED MATURE
Part Five: El Estudio
She'd been at Abuela's for nearly three weeks now, and somewhere between the constant crowing and the humidity that made her hair do things she'd given up trying to control, she'd stopped fighting it. Stopped trying to make this place fit into the life she'd left behind.
She was just... here.
Friday morning, she woke three minutes before the first rooster screamed and lay there listening to Abuela moving around in the kitchen. Coffee brewing. The radio turning on low to that station that played nothing but boleros from the '60s. The sounds of a routine that had probably been the same for forty years.
Emmanúela got up, pulled on shorts and an old t-shirt that used to be white and was now a vague grayish color from too many washes. She then braided her hair back and went to find out what Abuela needed today.
"Buenos días, mija." Abuela was already at the stove. "You sleep good?"
"Yeah. What do you need me to do?"
Abuela pointed toward the back door with a wooden spoon. "The chickens need water. Their trough is almost empty. And collect the eggs while you're out there."
Emmanúela looked toward the back door, and thought about the chickens, specifically about Satanás—the black and white rooster who'd decided on day three that Emmanúela was his mortal enemy for reasons she still didn't understand.
"All of them?"
"Sí, all of them. ¿Por qué? You scared of the chickens?"
"I'm not scared. I'm just... cautious."
"Cautious." Abuela's smile was knowing. "Es el gallo, ¿verdad? Satanás?"
"He has it out for me."
"He has it out for everyone. You just gotta show him who's boss."
"Easy for you to say. He doesn't try to murder you every morning."
"Because I don't run. You run, he chase. You stand still, he leave you alone." Abuela went back to cooking. "Anda. Go. The chickens don't feed themselves."
Emmanúela grabbed the bucket and the basket for eggs and headed outside.
The morning air was already warm and thick, the sun barely up but already making its presence known. The yard was alive with sound—coquís finishing up their night shift, birds starting their day shift, and of course the chickens, who seemed to exist in a perpetual state of loud and chaotic.
The chicken coop was at the back of the property, past Abuela's vegetable garden and the clothesline. Emmanúela approached cautiously, bucket in one hand, egg basket in the other, scanning for Satanás.
The hens were fine. Clucking around, doing whatever chickens did, mostly ignoring her. She filled the water trough from the hose, then started checking the nesting boxes for eggs.
She'd found four when she heard it.
That sound.
The low, threatening bock-bock-bock that meant Satanás had spotted her.
"No," she said out loud. "No, we're not doing this today."
Bock. Bock. BOCK.
She turned slowly. He was ten feet away, standing there. Staring at her with those dead black eyes that said he'd been waiting for this moment all morning.
"I'm just getting eggs," Emmanúela said. "That's it. I'm not bothering anyone."
He took a step forward.
"Don't."
Another step.
"Satanás, I swear to God—"
He charged.
"SHIT!"
Emmanúela ran. The bucket went flying. The basket stayed in her death grip because she'd be damned if she was going to face Abuela without eggs. She made it halfway across the yard before she remembered what Abuela had said about standing still.
She stopped, turned, and held up a hand like she was a traffic cop.
"STOP."
Satanás stopped three feet away and tilted his head.
They stared at each other.
"We're both adults here," Emmanúela said, her voice shaking slightly. "Well. You're a chicken, but we can be civil about this."
He fluffed his feathers and made a considering noise.
Then turned around and walked away like nothing had happened.
Emmanúela stood there, breathing hard, clutching the egg basket, wondering if she'd just won or if he'd decided she wasn't worth the effort today.
"You okay?" Abuela's voice from the porch.
"I'm fine."
"You screaming about the gallo again?"
"No!"
"Mentirosa."
Emmanúela collected the bucket from where it had landed, checked to make sure none of the eggs were broken, and headed back toward the house with as much dignity as she could manage.
Abuela was grinning when she came inside. "Satanás chase you?"
"He charged me. I stood my ground."
"Ah, so you learning." Abuela took the egg basket, inspected the contents. "Bien. Six eggs. That's good. You do the garden next, then you done for the morning."
The garden meant weeding and watering, which was somehow both meditative and exhausting. Emmanúela lost herself in it for a while—the rhythm of pulling weeds, the satisfaction of seeing the plants looking healthier after, the smell of dirt and growing things.
By the time she finished, it was past nine and she was covered in a fine layer of sweat and soil. She went inside, showered, changed into clean clothes, and felt approximately like she'd done a full day's work even though it wasn't even ten a.m.
This was her life now. Chicken battles. Garden maintenance. Learning to make food from scratch. Moving at the speed of the island instead of the speed of her former corporate life.
She was surprised by how much she didn't hate it.
She made herself coffee—the way Abuela had taught her, thick and sweet and strong—and took it out to the porch. The day was heating up fast, the kind of heat that made everything slow down whether you wanted it to or not. She settled into one of the plastic chairs, feet propped on the railing, and let herself just... be.
No phone calls to return. No emails to answer. No meetings to prepare for. Just coffee and humidity and the sound of Abuela's radio drifting through the screen door.
She was halfway through her second cup when Yesenia's car pulled up.
"¿Qué lo qué?" Yesenia called out, getting out of the car with two bags from the panadería. "I bring breakfast. Well, second breakfast. You already ate?"
"Abuela force-fed me mangú at six."
"Good, this is elevenses." Yesenia climbed the steps, handed Emmanúela one of the bags. Inside was a quesito and a pastelillo, both still warm. "I was in the area. Thought you might want company."
"You're never not in the area. You work twenty minutes away."
"Okay, fine. I wanted to check on you. You been quiet this week."
"I've been busy. Abuela has me doing manual labor."
"She has you learning to be useful. There's a difference." Yesenia settled into the other chair, pulled out her own quesito. "How you feeling? For real?"
Emmanúela thought about it. About how she'd woken up this morning not thinking about Carlos first thing. About how she'd stood up to a homicidal rooster. About how her Spanish was getting better, her hands were getting callused, her skin was getting darker from all the time outside.
"I think I'm okay," she said. "Like, actually okay. Not just saying it."
"Good. You look better. Less—" Yesenia gestured vaguely at her face. "Less like you're carrying the world."
"I'm still figuring things out."
"We're all always figuring things out. That's just life." Yesenia bit into her quesito, got cream cheese on her lip. "So. You and Benito."
Emmanúela's stomach did a small flip. "What about me and Benito?"
"Come on, don't play. I got eyes." Yesenia grinned. "He's been over here like four times this week. And you do that thing with your face when his name comes up."
"I don't do a thing with my face."
"You're doing it right now."
"I'm not—" Emmanúela caught herself. "Okay, fine. Maybe there's... something. I don't know what it is yet."
"Girl, everyone knows what it is. The question is when you're gonna admit it to yourself."
"It's complicated."
"Everything's complicated if you think about it too hard." Yesenia leaned back in her chair. "He's a good guy, Emmie. Like, genuinely good. Not a lot of people with his kind of fame stay that way."
"I know he's good. That's not—" Emmanúela stopped. "I'm scared I'm not ready. That I'm gonna mess it up."
"Or maybe you don't mess it up. Maybe you just see where it goes."
"That's terrifying."
"Yeah, well. Good things usually are." Yesenia finished her quesito, balled up the wrapper. "Just don't overthink yourself out of something that could be great."
The text came at 9:47 p.m. on a Friday.
Benito: you awake?
Emmanúela was on the porch with Abuela and Yesenia, drinking beer and half-listening to them argue about whether Tía Carmen's potato salad was better this year or last year. Her phone lit up on her lap and her heart did that stupid skip it had been doing for the past week whenever his name appeared.
She picked it up. Typed back: Yeah. Why?
Benito: you wanna come to the studio?
Benito: im working on something. want you to hear it
Yesenia was watching her over the rim of her Medalla. "Let me guess. Benito?"
"Maybe."
"Girl, the way your face just changed." Yesenia grinned. "What'd he say?"
"He wants me to come to the studio."
"Oooh." Yesenia drew the word out, eyebrows raised. "That's big."
"It's just music."
"It's never just music with him. And he never invites people to the studio. Like, ever. MAG barely gets in there when he's in the zone." Yesenia leaned forward. "He's letting you in, Emmie. That means something."
Emmanúela looked at her phone. Typed: Now?
Benito: if you want. i can pick you up
Benito: or is too late?
She should say no. Should stay on this porch and drink beer and pretend her entire body wasn't currently vibrating at the thought of being alone with him in a dark studio.
She typed: Give me ten minutes.
"You're going," Yesenia said. Statement, not question.
"I'm going."
"Wear the good bra."
"Yesi—"
"I'm just saying. The studio gets cold and you don't want—"
"Oh my God, I hate you."
But she went inside and changed the bra anyway.
The studio was in San Juan, tucked in a neighborhood Emmanúela would've never found on her own. Benito had picked her up in the Jeep, and the drive had been easy—windows down, music low, his hand drumming against the steering wheel while he hummed along to something she didn't recognize.
"You nervous?" he'd asked at one point.
"Why would I be nervous?"
"I don't know. You doing that thing where you pick at your nails."
She'd stopped immediately. "I'm fine."
"Okay." But he'd smiled like he knew she was lying.
The building didn't look like much from the outside—concrete and metal, industrial and anonymous. But when Benito unlocked the door and led her through a narrow hallway, everything changed.
The studio was beautiful.
Not in an obvious way. No windows, no natural light, just the soft glow of equipment LEDs and the warm amber of strategically placed lamps. The walls were covered in soundproofing foam, some of it painted, some of it signed by artists whose names Emmanúela was starting to recognize. The control room was all dark wood and leather, the mixing board lit up like a spaceship dashboard.
And it was quiet. Not silent—there was the low hum of equipment, the barely-there buzz of electronics—but peaceful. Intentional. Like the whole space was holding its breath.
"This is—" Emmanúela didn't have words. "It's amazing."
"Yeah?" Benito looked pleased. "I spent a long time getting it right. Had to sound-proof everything after María, rebuild from nothing, but—" He gestured around. "This is where I live, you know? Like, really live."
There were two other people there—a guy at the mixing board who Benito introduced as Tainy, and someone in the corner with a laptop who gave a little wave but didn't get up. The vibe was relaxed but focused, everyone in their own world but somehow connected.
"This is Emmanúela," Benito said to the room. "She's—" He paused, seemed to search for words. "She's with me."
Tainy's eyebrows went up slightly but he just nodded. "Cool. You want something to drink? We got beer, water, some juice probably."
"Water's good," Emmanúela said.
Benito grabbed two bottles from a mini-fridge and handed her one, then led her to a couch against the back wall. "Sit. Get comfortable. We gonna be here a while."
"What are you working on?"
"Song for the residency. Is—" He switched to Spanish, frustrated with English. "Es complicado. I'm trying to get the feel right but something is missing, you know?"
"Can I hear it?"
His face lit up. "Yeah. Yeah, hold on."
He went to Tainy, said something she couldn't hear. Tainy nodded, pressed some buttons, and suddenly the room filled with sound.
It started with piano. Simple, haunting, just a few notes repeated. Then drums, subtle, more felt than heard. Then Benito's voice, soft and raw in a way that made Emmanúela's chest tight.
The Spanish was too fast for her to catch all of it, but she understood enough. Something about loss. About home. About loving something so much it hurt.
It was beautiful.
When it ended, the silence felt heavy.
"What you think?" Benito asked, and there was something vulnerable in his voice. Like her opinion actually mattered.
"It's incredible. The way your voice—" She struggled to find words. "It feels personal. Like you're letting people see something real."
"That's what I want but—" He gestured at the speakers. "The bridge. Something is not right there. The emotion, is not hitting like I want."
"Play it again?"
He did. This time Emmanúela closed her eyes and just listened. The bridge came and she heard what he meant—there was something missing, some connective tissue between the verse and the chorus that would make it land.
"What if you stripped it down?" she said when it ended. "Like, took out the drums in the bridge completely. Made it just you and the piano. Let the vulnerability really breathe before bringing everything back in."
Benito stared at her. Then looked at Tainy. "Can we try that?"
Tainy was already pulling up the track.
****************************************
Emmanúela was sitting on his couch, water bottle clutched in both hands, watching him work with these big eyes that made his chest feel weird.
He'd invited people to the studio before. Other artists, obviously. Friends sometimes, though not often. His mom once, though she'd gotten bored after twenty minutes and left.
But this was different.
Watching Emmanúela listen—really listen, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her whole body focused on the music like it mattered—did something to him. Made him want to make it perfect. Made him want to show her everything he was capable of.
Made him want to impress her, which was stupid because impressing people was literally his job and he'd stopped caring about it years ago.
Except he cared about impressing her.
Fuck.
"Try it from the bridge," he told Tainy, stepping into the booth.
He put on the headphones. Waited for the count. Started singing.
The stripped-down version felt right immediately. Naked. Vulnerable. Exactly what the song needed.
When he finished, he looked through the glass at Emmanúela. She was smiling, and something about that smile made him want to do stupid things like write a whole album just to see her smile like that again.
"That's it," Tainy said through the headphones. "That's the one."
Benito came back out. "You were right."
"I just suggested—"
"You were right." He sat down next to her, closer than strictly necessary. Close enough to smell her— her usual coconut lotion and something else he couldn't name. "You got good instincts."
"I don't know anything about music production."
"You don't need to. You know how to feel things. That's harder." He was looking at her mouth. When had he started looking at her mouth? "You want to hear the rest?"
"There's more?"
"I got like six songs. Some finished, some—" He gestured vaguely. "Some I don't know what they are yet."
"Yeah. I want to hear them."
So he played her everything. Tracks that were done, tracks that were half-done, voice memos on his phone that were just ideas. She listened to all of it, asked questions that made him think, made suggestions that were sometimes right and sometimes completely wrong but always interesting.
Hours passed. Tainy left around midnight. The laptop guy—Opie—left around one. And then it was just them and the equipment hum and the night pressing against the walls.
"You hungry?" Benito asked when he noticed her checking her phone for the time.
"It's two in the morning."
"So? There's a place down the street. Twenty-four hours. Best tripleta on the island."
"You're gonna get recognized."
"Nah. Not there. Is locals only." He stood, stretched, caught her watching him and grinned. "What?"
"Nothing."
"You checking me out, mami?"
"No." But her smile went wide and fuck, that was cute.
"Is okay if you are. I been checking you out all night."
"Benito—"
"What? Is true." He held out his hand. "Come on. Let's go eat."
****************************************
The restaurant was tiny and fluorescent-bright and smelled like fried everything. They were the only customers, and the woman behind the counter lit up when she saw Benito.
"¡Benny! ¿Qué tú haces aquí tan tarde?"
"Trabajando. You know how it is." He leaned against the counter, completely comfortable. "Doña Lucy, this is Emmanúela. Emmanúela, this is Doña Lucy. She been feeding me since I was broke and stupid."
"You still stupid," Doña Lucy said, but she was smiling. She looked at Emmanúela with open curiosity. "You his girlfriend?"
"No, we're just—"
"She's with me," Benito said, and the way he said it made Emmanúela's stomach flip.
They ordered tripletas and sat at a small table by the window. The sandwich was massive—steak, pork, ham, cheese, lettuce, tomato, all crammed into bread that was somehow both crispy and soft. Emmanúela took a bite and nearly moaned.
"Right?" Benito was watching her with this satisfied expression. "I told you."
"I could eat this every day."
"You should. Doña Lucy would love you." He took a bite of his own sandwich, and some mayo got on his lip. Without thinking, Emmanúela reached over and wiped it off with her thumb.
They both froze.
Emmanúela pulled her hand back. "Sorry. You had—"
"Is okay." His voice was lower. Rougher. "You can—" He cleared his throat. "Is fine."
They ate in charged silence, the air between them feeling thick and electric.
"Can I ask you something?" Emmanúela said eventually.
"Yeah."
"Why'd you invite me tonight? To the studio?"
Benito set down his sandwich. Looked at her directly. "Because I wanted you there."
"But you never invite people—"
"I never invite people because most people don't get it. They wanna take pictures or they get bored or they make it about them." He paused. "But you—you listened. Really listened. Like it mattered."
"It does matter."
"I know. But most people don't see that." He leaned back in his chair. "I like having you around. You make me—I don't know how to say it in English. You make things feel less heavy, you know?"
Emmanúela's chest felt tight. "You make things feel less heavy for me too."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The moment stretched. Benito's eyes dropped to her mouth again, and this time Emmanúela's breath caught because she knew what that look meant, knew where this was heading.
"We should—" she started.
"Yeah," he said. "We should go back."
Neither of them moved.
***************************************
They made it back to the studio around three. Emmanúela was tired—he could see it in the way she moved, slower and softer—but she didn't say anything about going home.
"I got one more thing I want you to hear," he said. "But you gotta promise me something."
"What?"
"You can't tell nobody about it. Not yet. Is not finished and is—" He searched for words. "Is personal."
"Okay. I promise."
He pulled up the track. This one he'd been working on for weeks, couldn't get right, couldn't figure out what it needed. It was about her—not that he'd tell her that yet—about watching someone come back to life, about wanting to be part of that, about being scared to fuck it up.
He hit play.
The song filled the room, just his voice and guitar at first, then building slowly. He watched Emmanúela's face while she listened, watched her expression shift from curious to understanding to something else, something that made his heart beat faster.
When it ended, she was quiet for a long time.
"That's—" She stopped. Started again. "Benito, that's beautiful. Who's it about?"
"Someone I met recently. Someone who—" He couldn't look at her. "Someone who makes me want to be better."
More silence.
Then Emmanúela said, soft enough he almost missed it: "It's about me, isn't it?"
He looked at her then. She was sitting on the couch with her legs tucked under her, hair falling out of its bun, eyes bright and nervous and hopeful.
"Yeah," he said. "Is about you."
"Benito—"
"You don't have to say nothing. I just—I wanted you to know. That you matter. That this—" He gestured between them. "Whatever this is, it matters to me."
She stood up. Crossed the room to where he was sitting at the mixing board. Stopped right in front of him, close enough that he had to tilt his head back to look at her.
"It matters to me too," she said.
Then she kissed him.
Or he kissed her. Later, he wouldn't be able to say who moved first, just that suddenly her mouth was on his and his hands were on her waist and everything else disappeared.
She tasted like the candy she'd been eating earlier, sweet and artificial and perfect. Her hands went to his hair and he made a sound he'd be embarrassed about later, pulling her closer until she was basically in his lap.
The kiss went from soft to desperate fast. His hands slid under her shirt, feeling warm skin, and she gasped against his mouth. He kissed down her jaw, her neck, that spot below her ear that made her grip his hair harder.
"Benito—"
"Tell me to stop," he said against her skin. "Tell me and I will."
"I don't want you to stop."
Fuck.
He stood up, lifting her with him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to the couch, laid her down, covered her body with his.
They kissed until his lips felt bruised, until he couldn't think straight, until the only thing that existed was her hands on his skin and her body under his and the small sounds she made that were driving him absolutely insane.
His phone rang.
They both froze.
"Ignore it," Emmanúela whispered.
"I can't. Is probably MAG. He's the only one who calls this late."
She let him go and he grabbed his phone, seeing MAG's name on the screen. "Que?"
"¿Dónde estás? Llevo una hora intentando contactarte. Tenemos un problema con el local del tercer espectáculo—"
"¿Puede esto esperar hasta la mañana?"
"No, hombre, tenemos que hacerlo—"
Benito looked at Emmanúela. She was sitting up now, fixing her shirt, her lips swollen and her hair completely destroyed. She looked like every wet dream he'd been having for the past three weeks.
"Dame diez minutos," he told MAG. "Te llamaré de nuevo."
He hung up.
"You have to deal with that," Emmanúela said. Not a question.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, I—"
"Don't apologize." She stood up, smoothed her hair. "It's fine. It's late anyway. I should probably get home before Abuela sends out a search party."
"Emmanúela—"
"It's okay. Really." She kissed his cheek, and the sweetness of it after what they'd just been doing felt like whiplash. "Take me home?"
He did, even though every part of him wanted to tell MAG to fuck off and figure it out himself.
The drive was quiet. Not awkward exactly, but charged. Every time they stopped at a light, Benito's hand would drift to her thigh and she'd cover it with hers and they'd just sit like that until the light changed.
When he pulled up to Doña Carmen's, he killed the engine.
"Tonight was—" He didn't have words.
"Yeah," she said. "It was really nice."
"I want to see you tomorrow. Is that okay?"
"More than okay."
She started to get out but he caught her hand. "Emmie?"
"Yeah?"
"That song. I meant every word."
Her smile was soft and real and made his chest ache. "I know."
He watched her go inside, waited until the lights came on and he knew she was safe. Then he sat there for another five minutes, his fingers on his lips, grinning like an absolute idiot before finally calling MAG back.
"Te tomó bastante tiempo", MAG said.
"Sí, sí. ¿Cuál es el problema?"
But his mind was already somewhere else, replaying the kiss, the way she'd tasted, the small sound she'd made when he'd touched her.
Benito's POV during the events of Part 6 & 7. Based on this request and a comment from @oceantides-and-daffodils about Benito being the reader's nurse!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Finale
wc. 3.3k
notes. I'm not done with this series until I say it's over! is was a really cool request and a lot of fun to challenge myself to write in a different perspective! Hope you like!!! don't come at me about the title, I know it's a little dumb lmaooo
tags. bad bunny x fem!reader, slow burn, angst/comfort, zombie apocalypse AU, mentions of blo*d, implied character d*eath, use of g*ns, reader speaks little spanish, you do have a previous boyfriend for the sake of the story. please suspend your disbelief of zombies, google translated spanish, but I really did try to do my research. It's meant to be read like you can't always understand spanish.
Benito’s life flashed before his eyes.
He had fully been prepared to be the one to take the bullet for you and his family.
Benito knew this life with you was going to be fleeting anyway, so he knew that dying was on the table sooner than later.
Although he didn’t want to leave you, or his family, it was something he prepared himself for. He’d even given little prayers to God your entire walk to New York.
Upon seeing the motor-boat, he had an awful feeling as his chest only got worse as he tried to start the motor. With every pull of the cable, he kept praying, fearing that this was it with you. He whispered a prayer for each one of his family members, plus four more: one for Nate, one for your parents, and one for you, all to protect you when he was gone.
However, the moment of impact never came for him.
Instead, he felt your hand on his shoulder slip off, trying to grasp at the fabric of his shirt. And as he turned, he knew he was witnessing his worst nightmare come to life.
The love of his life crumpled immediately to the floor of the boat with a harsh thud and a large red stain started to spread across your clothes. Without realizing it, you were letting out horrible gurgling sounds.
His Mother, his Father, and his Brother were all moving around him in a blur, but his attention was focused on the woman that made his heart sing. Everything was going too fast for him; too quick for what he needed to do.
Benito needed to do something, was all he could think. But he couldn’t.
He was frozen.
From the moment he met you, he was captivated by you. Your voice, your beauty, your determination. He hadn’t cared that you were pointing your pistol at him; he could immediately see your heart and know that you wouldn’t hurt him. And when your hands touched, he was filled with a sweltering desire.
It pained him so much to leave that first time. He thought about turning back and trying to start something, to stay with you, to talk to you. But he also had a family to get to and that was the most important goal. But, to go off into the woods with only a memory of you on his mind - not even a picture of you - he’d felt ripped apart.
And then, by some sort of fate, you crossed his path again. He’d heard that same voice yelling for help and had run to you as fast as he could manage. He had no plan other than to get to you and save you.
Destiny crossed his mind. Meant to be. Estaba destinado a se.
As the two of you walked, he was patient as your feelings for him blossomed, but his heart was already set on making you his in any way he could. He gave you little names, and touches, and gazes to show you that he was there waiting. It was all rolled out for you, but he wouldn’t dare push you.
Dancing with you felt like a dream; an excuse to hold and touch you with certainty. And when you finally reciprocated his feelings, Dios, he actually couldn’t believe how right it felt for him to have you.
That morning after the two of you made love, he was so elated and yet angry at himself. He’d wished he hadn’t been so eager - to take his time with you somewhere else with less danger; to have somehow made it more special. Because you hadn’t deserved to feel anything other than love for days after you made him so happy.
Benito was thinking so far ahead - he thought about marriage once things got better, or about having children - but he had to stop himself often and remember to live in the moment. He had never wanted to make those sorts of plans before, but with you, any plan felt possible.
When your eyes started to close, all of those plans were fading with you.
A fire lit from under him and he began doing everything he could think of to keep you awake. He knew he was talking to you, exhausting every word he could think of in English, but his ears were buzzing. He couldn’t even begin to focus on anything other than keeping you with him for as long as possible.
Tears were falling from the corners of your eyes, and he began to feel frustrated. He didn’t want you to give up yet, but you were talking like you would. He knew you loved your family; still loved Nate, but he was selfish.
¿No quieres estar conmigo tanto como yo quiero estar contigo? Benito thought to himself.
“Te quiero,” He whispered, “Do you know what that means?”
Benito knew you knew what it meant, although he hadn’t said it to you yet. And then, he wished he had said it sooner. It had been all he’d been thinking about, possibly since the day he met you.
“Te quiero, cariño.”
“I love you, Benito.”
Your eyes closed, and he felt the warm wetness of your blood trickle onto his knee. And that’s when his entire being lit aflame.
No.
He prayed hard. He prayed often. He was getting his prayer.
Benito began to work amongst his family, helping his brother stop the bleeding. Once the bleeding was under control, he checked your pulse, finding it weak. As his Brother continued to hold pressure and began attempting to remove the bullet, Benito gave you compressions and mouth to mouth, regardless of how it threw the boat around.
At some point, his Mother had stopped and began to pray, though her types of prayers were much different from Benito’s. The words strung from her lips in a multitude of wishes. But hearing them only made the heat in his cheeks rise. She was asking, not demanding.
Frustrated was way beyond what Benito felt. Now, he was angry.
Noises came from his own mouth as he worked on you that he didn’t realize he could make. He growled at you, shouted, but he wasn’t angry at you; he was angry at the deity taking you away from him, asking what he did to experience heaven and hell in the same lifetime.
For a few moments, your eyes opened again. Fury flooded out of him as a new wave of relief mixed in. It made him feel so dizzy, but so elated to see you awake and alive.
He heard from behind him that his Brother had gotten the object out of you, and he sighed in relief again.
As he watched you, the depth in your eyes that Benito had fallen so head over heels for was beginning to shallow. Your eyes weren’t focused, and they were lulling all around you. They tried to meet him, but couldn’t quite make it.
“Ey…” He spoke, just to you, “I’m right here, baby. Look at me.” You obeyed blindly, attempting to lift your eyelids, causing him to smirk the tiniest bit. “You’re so brave, my love.”
As your eyes rolled shut again, a new building irritation was growing in him, making it harder for him to concentrate on English. There was so much he needed to say, now, but nothing was coming to him.
He needed to tell you in a way you understood how much you meant to him; how you changed his life. You taught him how patient he could be. You taught him that life was possible in a world where death was around every corner.
There was so much he wanted to do with you; take you to his home, make love to you again, play music with you again.
“Please…” it was desperate as it slipped from his mouth, “Please don’t leave. I need you with me.”
***
The first few days in the Pittsburg house were quiet.
It had taken a little less than five days to get there from the edge of the New Jersey shore.
Those five days were agonizing for Benito. He and his family had to keep you moving, but they wanted so desperately to take care of you too.
From the house, it was a straight shot down to Marcelo’s motel according to your map, and that’s precisely where Benito thought all of you could thrive.
He just had to get you back.
You’d been in and out of consciousness for those several days at that point. Your body was constantly shivering, fighting off a nasty fever.
Sometimes you would murmur the most worrisome things; words about missing and wanting to be with your loved ones. There were times it sounded to him like you were talking to someone else entirely.
It was breaking Benito’s heart.
Benito kicked himself often, thinking he could’ve done more to prevent any infection or hurt from happening at all. He wished so desperately that it had been him that was hurt. But then again, he couldn’t change the past, and he’d done all he could.
He had obviously never been a surgeon, but by God, he had tried. He’d made the little sewing kit he’d found work as much as possible as he and his Mother stitched up your wound. On that couch, you had made so many noises he wished he’d never heard.
He hated it, but he practically force-fed you as much water as he could. Any time you had any sort of consciousness to you, he’d hold little bottles of water he could find. He would hold your jaw open with firm fingers, sitting you up and making you drink until you could push him away. At least then, he knew you had some energy.
Now it was just a waiting game for you to come back to him.
The sort of sweltering anger ate away at himself every time he looked at you, enough to make his breath uneven.
He hadn’t been getting much sleep, trying to let you get your rest. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, and most of the time, that wasn’t anywhere he could accidentally hurt you more. So, he paced when he couldn’t sleep beside you,
For the millionth time, he pressed his hand to your forehead, frowning when he realized your fever had just barely broken. As delicately as he could, he lifted the edge of your shirt to address the damage of the day.
Distracting himself from feeling his anger, Benito began to sing aloud:
Tu corazón me pertenece, y el mío a ti. No esperes que me quede si me dejas aquí.
His Mother poked her head in around the corner, having heard what her son sang. She frowned before he could even see her, clearing her throat at the door.
“No es verdad.”
Benito didn’t turn to look at his Mother, but let out a sigh, “No… pero, puede ser.”
“Benito.” His Mother said sternly, “Si no quieres que ella diga esas cosas, yo tampoco quiero que las digas.
Finally, he pulled his eyes away from your sleeping figure.
“Discúlpame, Mamá.”
Waggling her finger to him, he reluctantly moved away from your mattress, walking out into the little hallway. He pressed his back against the wall opposite of her, and she gave him a weary look.
“El vínculo que tienes con ella es fuerte. Cualquiera puede verlo. Pero me preocupa qué pasará si ella no sobr–”
“Stop please.” The English came from his mouth before he could stop it. He sighed, trying again. “Para. Es muy difícil para mí pensar en eso, mami. Creo que Dios me castiga.”
“Benito…”
“¿Recuerdas cuando te dije que nunca quise casarme?” she nodded, “Tiene que ser ella, o jamás ocurrirá.”
His Mother smiled, “Ella le ha cambiado a usted, hijo.”
“Más que nada.”
Taking a moment to breathe, he sucked in a shaky breath, explaining to her just how much you meant to him. And it was true; he had never loved anyone as intensely as you. If you died, he wouldn’t know how to recuperate or heal. He didn’t know if he could, and he didn’t want to find out. He was refusing.
His Mother reminded him that it wasn’t just something he could say no to. It wasn’t in his hands whether you left this plane of existence or not, but in the same deity’s hands that let you live in the first place. Everyone from your past was waiting to greet you again and love you just as much as he wanted to.
Although it was a tough pill to swallow, hearing that from his Mother relinquished some of the anger he’d had. Because she was right.
You both had been through so much in those past few weeks. It was easy to forget that you had already lost several of the people you loved before him; easy to forget that you had adjusted every part of yourself to make sure he got to his family when you had all of those haunted memories of your own.
It felt incredibly selfish of him to continuously beg you to stay for him and him alone.
All he could keep doing was try for you. He couldn’t keep you from leaving him, but he could make sure you were as comfortable and as at peace as possible if you did.
You at least deserved that.
Tears were falling freely down his reddened cheeks as his Mother pulled him in for a tight hug, letting out some choked sobs as he held her to him tightly.
As he walked back into the room, he was shocked to see tears were falling from the corners of your eyes too. He rushed to you, placing your face in his hands to try and soothe you, only for him to get choked up again too.
He felt more able to pull you close and give you long overdue kisses as he carefully got on the bed with you for the first time. He loved the feeling of you curling into his side automatically as he grabbed you.
You tried to apologize to him, and that only broke his heart more.
When you’d finally admitted to seeing your loved ones, Benito didn’t react like the way he thought he would. In a way, he had suspected they were making visits to try and take you, and he thanked them in his mind for being as gentle as possible with you.
But he didn’t want to show his selfishness just yet. He wanted to break the tension with you when it got too much for you to handle; deflect until you laughed, and for a moment, it worked.
Although he wouldn’t always understand everything you lost, he would understand losing you.
You fell asleep in Benito’s arms that night; your fever had finally broken and you weren’t as uncomfortable by his touch. He relished in the feeling of you sleeping beside him again, feeling his own eyes getting heavy after several nights of no rest.
“Lo lamento,” He whispered, raking his fingers as light as a feather over your skin, “Sometimes… I wish we had met earlier. Just so I’d have a little more time with you.
“No pasa nada, cariño, si quieres estar con tus seres queridos.” Benito whispered in the crevice of your neck and shoulder, “It was my turn to love you. And if my turn is up, then… Sería tan difícil seguir adelante. But I would do it for you, just like you continued for Nate, yeah? But…
“If you leave me, my wish would be to do it all over again, no matter how short. Todo. Para ti. Solo para conocerte de nuevo por primera vez... Just to fall in love with you again.”
As his eyes finally shut, he held you tighter.
***
It was honestly so hard for him to speak at times, because his prayers truly had been answered. Or maybe his Mother’s. But it didn’t matter.
You were up and conscious and walking and talking and…
Benito went giddy just thinking about having you with him again.
He didn’t mean to hover - he really didn’t - but it was in his nature to make sure every need of yours could be met before you could struggle. It became as easy as breathing to check up on you and read your face to anticipate what you wanted.
Every morning, he would attempt to wake up before you purposefully so he could make sure your rise was slow and steady. Anything too fast would send your body into a shock and for pain to rupture through you, so he wanted to hold you to him tightly so you wouldn’t move too quickly.
If you were the one to wake before him, he was quick to pull you back down onto the mattress, from wherever you were, to make sure you stretched and warmed up to the day ahead of you.
When you wanted to do things by yourself, he didn’t stop you, but he tried to be around just in case you did want him. He would always let you use him as a support whether you asked for it or not. You expressed often that you feared you were hurting him, but he thought that was the silliest thing in the world.
Any time you did something on your own, he would smile wide; even something just as small as when you turned your torso or little stands.
He would sing you praises like, “Beautiful job, mami.” or “Cariño, me encanta tu fuerza.”
Once, while you were outside doing your therapy, he walked around the front yard gathering little flowers for you. As you got tired, he presented the small bouquet for you, beaming when your face flushed with gratitude.
Occasionally, and his favorite, you would reward him back with tiny kisses to his nose or between his eyes. It would make him blush every time, leaning into you to ask you for more, which of course you obliged.
Carrying you had become almost a daily occurrence in the house. He had gained a sixth sense for when you were tired and he relished in being able to read you like a book, especially when he grabbed you and you would fuse to him without a word.
Benito also made sure he was always the one to clean your wound if he could help it. However he touched you, it was subdued and calm, knowing just how to handle you.
Sometimes washing and rinsing the wound was anything but, but he always let you hold him however tight you wanted. He knew that whatever you did wouldn’t put him in as much pain as you were going through.
If you let out a pained sound, he would wince like he was the one hurting.
“Si pudiera borrarlo todo, lo haría, mi amor,” He would murmur.
Other times, the selfishness got to him as he relished in being the one to touch you so close. In ways he couldn’t express, being so focused on you drove him mad. As he always was, he was as patient as possible before he let the intimate touches get to be too much for him. But he was still a man, and he wanted to make you feel good.
He had been so scared to lose you before that he needed you, and when you didn’t push him away, he couldn’t help but adore the attention you dawned on him. With certain hands, he did make you feel good, and tried not to worry about him feeling pleasure too.
The more you healed, Benito began to dream once again of plans he’d once thought he would have to give up; plans of you and him and maybe somewhere tropical. You could have kids. Maybe one day, when the world was built back up again, you could have a big ceremony to celebrate your love… like a wedding.
Yes.
Benito’s life flashed before his eyes, and he liked what he saw.
end a.n. this was such a fun request, so thank you to whoever sent it! And as always, thank you for reading! Let me know what you think too, and you didn't hear it from me, but there might be an actual epilogue coming soon.
tags. @percysley, @chwrryontop, @rinam1rie, @whiteghostlyclouds, @forwardsreckonreboundddd, @oceantides-and-daffodils, @lipsredeyesblue, @zoomingspark888
While staying with Marcelo's community, you get to let loose. However, your mind doesn't always let you relax, and it leads to some difficult conversations.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
wc. 6.3k
notes. You guys are soo so so so sweet and funny and supportive. Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this part :) we're starting to get into it! Let me know what you think, as always or if you want to be tagged~
tags. bad bunny x fem!reader, slow burn, angst, zombie apocalypse AU, implied character d*eath, use of g*ns on zombies, reader speaks little spanish, you do have a previous boyfriend for the sake of the story. please suspend your disbelief of zombies, google translated spanish, but I really did try to do my research. It's meant to be read like you can't always understand spanish.
Some time in the afternoon, Marcelo stopped the three of you in front of a motel.
There was a sort of barricade, made up of old furniture and cars that were most likely abandoned. Barbed wire wrapped around the top loosely, but kept a clear message: anything to keep unwanted people or things out.
Two people were sitting on lawn chairs just outside. Once they saw all of you, they stood at attention.
“Marcelo,” an older man spoke to him fondly and gave him a hug, “¿Quienes son estas personas?”
“Son parientes míos. Se quedarán un par de días y solo están de paso.” Marcelo said.
You stole a glance at Benito who looked like he was over the moon to hear more of his native language being spoken. It gave you butterflies to see him so elated, but another part of you felt odd, like maybe this wasn’t the place for you.
You shook off the feeling and followed the new group through the little barricade as they allowed you to come through.
Only a few feet from the opening, a voice called from the second floor balcony.
“Marcelo!” It was a woman calling, with another woman beside her that was obviously very pregnant, “¿Conseguiste la fórmula de Mari?”
You immediately felt for the pregnant girl- not being able to imagine how hard it was to carry a baby in this environment. But then again, it looked like she had a good community.
“Jesus Christ,” Marcelo muttered before yelling back up to the older woman, “Yes. Hello to you too, Ma.”
“Hi baby, I’m glad you’re safe.” the older woman, Marcelo’s mother, patted the girl’s belly once before making her way down the steps toward the group of you. When she was close enough, she paused, looking directly at Benito.
“Oh my God,” her eyes were immediately starting to fill with tears. She threw her arms around the taller man, pulling him into her tightly. “Me alegro de verte.”
“Tú también,” he buried his face into her hair.
She pulled away, grasping his shoulders tightly like he would run away if she didn’t hold on, “Tu mamá está muy preocupada por ti.”
Benito let out a shaky laugh, getting emotional, “También estoy preocupada por ella. Estoy preocupada por todos ellos.”
“¿Cómo llegaste aquí?”
Benito turned to you; deep brown eyes met yours and he held out his hand once again. As you stepped beside him, Marcelo’s Mom gave a small gasp and pushed Benito’s arm. She turned to you with a wide smile, ready to speak, when Marcelo intercepted.
“She speaks English mostly.”
“Oh.”
Just as Marcelo had, she glanced between you and Benito with blatant curiosity. Before she could let it be shown for too long on her face, she gave you a polite smile.
“It’s nice to meet you. You’re traveling with Benito?”
You gave her a smile back, nodding, “We met about a week ago. I’m from New York, so I’ve been his guide, kinda…”
“That’s kind of you. Even though you don’t speak Spanish?”
Again, all of their eyes were on you and you shrank back like they were judging what you were going to say, “Well… yeah. He asked for my help, so I wasn’t going to say no. A-And I’m learning.”
Your gaze drifted automatically to the head of curls. He was giving you a sort of coy smile back. You always wondered just exactly what he understood at any given time, but this he at least seemed to know you were talking about him.
“Well, his Mama’s going to be elated to know you’ve been keeping her baby safe. From one mom to another.” She extended her hand to you for a handshake, “I’m Isa. Marcelo’s mom.”
You gave her your name, shaking her hand firmly.
“We’ll get you two rooms. I’m sure you’re both exhausted. We can set you up, just like you’re checking into a hotel.” She beamed, “We’ve got a great community of people here; whatever you need, just ask.”
You smiled, “Just being able to stay here is more than enough.”
Isa motioned for all of you to follow her up to the second floor where she’d been previously. Marcelo stopped to speak to Mari, the lady with the baby, presenting the items he’d found on his scouting to which she accepted gratefully.
The older woman continued to lead us down the hallway.
“We had to break the locks,” she explained as she jiggled one of the door handles, “So, the doors are weird. The padlocks on the inside still latch, so you can lock it if you want to, but out here, you shouldn’t have to worry about any of that. Everyone here is respectful.”
Once open, she smiled triumphantly.
“Here’s your room, nuestra casa es tu casa,” she held out her arm for you to enter, “You’ll stay here, and I’ll set up Benito next door. In the meantime, get settled in. We’ll have dinner tonight when the sun sets.”
You and Benito stole a quick glance at each other.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that they were putting you in separate rooms; for all these people knew, you two were still strangers with a language barrier. They didn’t know the extent of what was going on.
So, neither of you said anything, knowing it would be an awkward ask anyway.
You nodded to her, and with that, the two left you to be by yourself.
The walls were thin and you could hear Isa showing Benito his room. They talked for a while before she also left him to his own devices.
The lack of sound made the place seem a little eerie, making you even more aware of how long it had been since you’d been by yourself.
You contemplated simply moving over to Benito’s room. You were sure he wouldn’t mind since you two had been sleeping near each other. But then again, you thought that maybe he’d want his space after being with you for so long.
Sighing to yourself, you stayed where you were.
The room was a normal motel room. There were still amenities from when it was a working place; a bathroom, TV, and a fridge that had all long stopped working. You still thought it was nice to feel like you were staying somewhere normal.
You placed your bag on the little couch by the door before walking over to the bed, immediately sinking yourself into the mattress. You hadn’t been on a bed in months, and the feeling of it was heaven itself.
Closing your eyes, you hoped to take a nap before dinner, or maybe even just sleep through the night.
However, through the wall, you heard a knock on Benito’s door. Your eyes shot open at the noise and you sighed, rolling over onto your back. Muffled, you heard the voices of Marcelo begin talking.
You could barely hear what they were saying, let alone understand, so you just listened to the timbre of their voices. They had been catching up on the walk, and you were sure that’s just what they were still doing.
It was nice listening to Benito getting to speak so freely with someone.
You’d thought that the language barrier didn’t frustrate you since you’d gotten better at reading each other’s signals, but here, it was a little different.
You were jealous.
It was the first time you were feeling upset that you couldn’t talk to him the way others here could without so much effort. You wouldn’t mention it though, and he wouldn’t either, but you were sure it got frustrating for him just as much as for you.
You were happy he was getting this instead of having to translate all the time, and you weren’t going to take that away just because of how you felt. For you it was nice to have people to speak to openly as well, but it obviously wasn’t the same.
As tired as you were, you didn’t fall asleep like you wanted. You kept your eyes closed, but sleep didn’t come to you.
When Marcelo did finally leave Benito to his own devices, both rooms went completely quiet again. It felt uneasy and eerie. Arguably, it was way worse than having voices.
With the quiet, you couldn’t even keep your eyes closed anymore, nor could you keep sane.
You got up with a loud squeak on the mattress and made your way out onto the balcony.
Leaning against the railing, you watched as several people in the motel parking lot had started cooking over a large fire. The smell of meat and spices were beginning to already waft up to you, making your stomach grumble.
For weeks you’d been living off of scraps, but this looked like a real meal.
“Comfortable here?”
Benito was suddenly beside you. You whipped your head around to face him, but was only startled more by how close he was to you.
You smiled, trying to recover from the skip in your heart, “Uh, yeah. This place is nice. Esta bien.”
He laughed, “Sorry we speak Spanish.”
Sometimes, it really felt like the two of you were on the same wavelength. You’d wondered vaguely if he’d been thinking the same things as you.
“No, don’t be sorry,” you said with a shrug, “I’m glad you do. Hablan ingles tambien. They can translate if they need to.”
“Do you hate that I don't speak as well as them?”
You frowned, giving him a questioning look, “You know you speak English better than you think you do.”
He didn’t answer, only looking at you expectantly. His eyes were trailing you, like he was watching every microscopic movement in your face.
“¿Odias que no hable español?”
He shook his head gently, whispering.
“No. No puedo.”
“Then I can’t either.” You shook your head back, “No puedo tambien”
The smile on his face became wide, “No puedo tampoco. Either.”
“Lo siento. No puedo tampoco.” You smiled back.
Benito gave you an approving nod before leaning against the railing of the balcony with you. His shoulder pressed against yours, warm and solid.
The normal comfortable silence the two of you had built filled the air between you as you watched the people below cook. The sun was beginning to fall into the horizon; around the time Isa had said we’d be eating.
The sun set was casting a gentle orange glow on the entire building.
Feeling relaxed, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at Benito. His eyes were closed, just as relaxed as you felt, basking in the warmth of the sun and the fire below you.
You wondered if he was reminded of somewhere - maybe home.
Without trying to think too hard, you leaned into his shoulder more, hoping to let him know that you were there for him; that you recognized him. Luckily, he stayed in his moment, simply leaning back into you too.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, unmoving, and just existing beside each other. You didn’t dare look at him, and he didn’t dare make a sound, creating that soft tension that seemed to surround you that day; like a rubber band not yet pulled to its limit.
Sometime later, you were both called down for dinner.
The whole community was called, in fact.
Several people came from all around; some from the barricades, others from their rooms on the first story, and others that hadn’t even been in the vicinity. Eventually, the entire parking lot was filled with people all coming together for dinner.
To eat, there was a lot of rice, a small portion of shredded chicken, and a little plantain on the side as a specialty. Although the portions were rationed, there was more than enough for everyone to have something.
And it was definitely a lot better than canned food.
There were several people sitting around us with different backgrounds and ethnicities. They were from all over the world it seemed. Some spoke English, but to Benito’s delight, most of them spoke Spanish.
It made you swell a little, thinking it a miracle that people had made it this far, only to come together in the same spot at the same time, surviving this world together.
He was lit up, having the time of his life as he got to know everyone. He was extremely friendly - always actively listening and including everyone around him in conversation. He even got Mari, the pregnant woman, a plate of food so she wouldn’t have to get up.
The food was also incredible. You ate until you were full - a sensation you hadn’t felt in ages - and continued to talk even well after everyone finished eating.
The sky had turned into dark indigo, with the only light source now being the campfire.
You weren’t sure where it started, or who it came from, but rhythmic chords sounded on a semi-tuned guitar. The next thing you knew, somebody else started to beat on a hollow piece of furniture, creating a drum beat.
You and Benito’s heads popped up at the same time like meerkats.
They were playing music.
Several people around you wasted no time to start dancing. People walked around the chairs, grabbing the people they wanted to dance with.
Mari was quick to grab Benito’s hand, pulling him up to come dance with her. He happily obliged and followed her on the makeshift dancefloor. You watched as they laced hands and immediately fell into step together - though cautiously because of her baby.
You felt more out of place than before as you didn’t think you were much of a dancer. You didn’t exactly want to embarrass yourself in front of all of these people, and especially not Benito.
Even Marcelo and Isa got up to dance after a while, leaving you to simply watch while sitting in your plastic chair.
Benito was a really good dancer - or, at least, you thought so. He was smooth with his movements and knew how to take the lead. He switched between partners effortlessly between dances, matching the energy they were giving.
Sometimes he’d sing along to a song he knew - just a snippet or two - above the crowd and into the night air, totally letting the music take him wherever he wanted to go.
It wasn’t until after a few songs that Benito finally stopped and took a breath. He looked around, searching until his eyes landed on you. He smirked and motioned for you to come to him.
You smiled politely and shook your head.
That apparently wasn’t an acceptable answer.
He made his way through the crowd, dancing his way over to you. Once he stood in front of your chair, he held out a hand.
“I don’t know how to dance.” You admitted.
He tutted and shook his head, but reached down, taking your hands in his anyway. He grasped and pulled until you finally stood from the chair, taking you over to where everyone else was dancing.
You could already feel yourself shrinking in embarrassment, but that wasn’t stopping him.
Without words, he kept hold of your right hand and gently moved your left until it rested on his shoulder. His hand then drifted down to the small of your back, pulling you in close. He took a step forward, swiveling his hips, pushing you forward until you followed him.
Your head automatically snapped down, trying to look at your feet to copy his movements, making him laugh.
“Nuh-uh. No, Mami, eyes on me.” His finger grazed your chin, bringing your head back up to meet his eyes.
This time he tried again, slower. You gave him a worried look, but tried to trust your own movement. Again, he smiled, pulling you toward him until you followed through with the step again.
After a couple of steps, you got a little faster, and you were actually starting to get it. Once you were starting to feel more relaxed, the more your steps became confident, and the more Benito moved you the way he wanted to.
He smiled wide at you, raising your arms above your head, spinning you until he brought your arms behind his neck, caressing the back of your arms. The touch of his warm hands against your skin sent a tremor down your spin, almost taking you out of your concentration.
The men changed the song into something a little faster - a little bit of a different style of music.
Benito let out a cry of excitement; his eyes went dark with something mischievous as the grip on your waist tightened, pressing you even closer to him than before.
“Esto es un baile de Bachata. ¡Agárrate fuerte! Don’t let go!”
You barely had time to register what he said before he was pulling you into a completely different dance.
Although the dance became quicker and livelier, the movement became a lot more intimate.
As you got used to the dance, Benito weaved his knee between your legs; he would press his thigh into yours from side to side, directing you on which way to turn. His head then dipped until his cheek was flush with yours.
You were close enough you could feel the rumble of his voice in your ears as he hummed and sang to the song, like it was for only you.
And for a moment, it was just the two of you in the motel parking lot, dancing and swaying and finding each other’s rhythms.
You closed your eyes, trying to savor the moment.
You tried to memorize the feeling of his hand in yours, or the way your cheeks touched. It was another moment you wanted to live in.
Before you knew it, the song was ending and another one began.
The world seemed to fall back into its place and you could feel a certain sadness rising up again.
Benito was grabbing at your waist, ready to start another dance, but you were quick to step away. He looked hurt, like you’d stung him, but quickly grabbed one of your hands to try and bring you back.
When you pulled away once again, he gave you a questioning look, not even hiding the fact he was starting to pout.
“Voy a la cama.” You explained quickly, “Going to bed.”
Your voice was unsteady; you weren’t even sure if you could be heard over the crowd. But Benito heard you and nodded, giving your hand a tight squeeze. He still looked disappointed, but he wasn’t pressing further.
“Okay… I like dancing with you.”
“Me too,” you gave him a genuine smile, “You’re a good teacher.”
“Deberíamos hacerlo de nuevo. Again sometime.”
You nodded, “Yeah, we should.”
The two of you stared at each other for a moment too long; your eyes drifted over one another’s faces and features, once again forgetting you were in a crowd of people. Your own eyes barely left his lips and his cheeks, flushed from all the dancing.
His mouth opened and closed a couple of times like he was going to say something, but instead, he settled on, “Goodnight.”
Feeling the knot in your throat forming, you gave him a small nod before making your way up the stairs to your new room.
The door closed behind you with a soft click, and it felt like the damn finally burst.
Hot, wet tears started to stream down your face.
You mentally scolded yourself for allowing yourself to feel so deeply; so intently that something as simple as dancing was sending you into a frenzy.
Slinking over to your bed, you buried yourself into the mattress and grabbed one of the pillows to hold. The sobs were erupting from you and you didn’t want anyone to hear them.
The thought of falling for someone else messed with your head more than you really wanted it to.
You allowed yourself to think of the man you once loved - just how different he was from Benito. You’d never wanted to fall in love with anyone else. He’d once held you the way Benito held you during your dance; close and intimate and like you were the only person in the world. You’d once thought to yourself that there was no one else you wanted more than Nate.
And yet, there was no denying that you were starting to feel very deeply for the man you’d met a week ago.
You closed your eyes, trying to remember what it was like to fall asleep next to Nate in bed. What it had been like to hold him.
You could feel it vaguely in the back of your mind; phantom touches on your waist and neck and on your lips.
But they were just that: phantoms.
When you opened your eyes again, the hot tears released again, falling down your cheeks and wetting the fabric of the pillow.
You choked in another sob, gripping the pillow tightly.
****
You didn’t get much sleep that night.
The music had gone well into the evening, but that wasn’t what kept you up. In fact, the music would have been perfect background noise to sleep to.
You had simply been too wrapped up in your thoughts throughout most of the night; unable to quiet any thoughts of Nate or Benito. And to say it was driving you crazy was an understatement.
Said curly haired man had gone to bed well after the music stopped. You’d heard him shuffling around his room late at night too; sometimes it sounded like he was pacing. Eventually, just before the morning though, you heard the squeal of the mattress followed by his soft snores.
That had put you a little more at ease, but still couldn’t relax and sleep yourself.
So you didn’t, really.
You had drifted off for an hour or two until the morning sun shone through the motel window. Even still, you tried to lay there until you heard movement from outside. The door next door opened and shut, telling you Benito was already awake.
Slowly, you peeled yourself off the bed and tried to pull yourself together as you changed into something cleaner. Your eyes felt puffy and tired, and all you really wanted to do was sleep, but you didn’t just want to lay in bed all day.
The least you could do for staying was lend a helping hand. Or, at least move your hands to keep you distracted.
Upon exiting the room, you were immediately met with a call of your name from down below in the parking lot. You looked down to see several people around the campfire again, having what looked like eggs for breakfast.
Benito was standing from his chair, looking at you. He held out a cup of water, silently offering it to you.
You sighed to yourself, afraid to face your feelings so early in the morning, but you didn’t want to be rude. You gave him a nod before making your way down the steps.
He handed you the water before you even sat down with a soft, “Hi.”
You smiled at him, though your eyes didn’t quite meet his, “Hi.”
From the corner of your eyes, you could see him giving you a funny look; scrunching his brows together as if he were studying you again. Feeling them burn into you, you tried to cover your face with your hair.
You tried to look interested in the water cup when Benito stood.
He walked over to the man making the eggs and made friendly conversation with him for a while. Soon, he sat back down with two paper plates, shoving one of them into your lap.
When you didn’t immediately eat, he lightly bumped your knee with his.
“Eat. Please.”
You chanced to look at him and saw he was watching you with doe eyes through his eyelashes. Finally, you picked up the fork, eating a couple of bites to appease him. Satisfied, he sat back in his chair, placing his arm around the back of yours.
He pointed to the food, “Come mucho. You’ll need it. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
You nodded as he looked at you again with surveilling eyes. You knew he wouldn’t press - he never did - but he also knew you would give in at some point.
After breakfast, the two of you separated, lending a helping hand to different people on opposite sides of the motel, yet always in his line of sight.
You were helping Marcelo put away clothes and formula for Mari while Benito helped prepare and gather supplies for dinner that night.
As always, your mind was wandering all over the place, and it was only worse with how tired you were feeling. The closer you got to New York, the more you could feel a sort of panic of what you were going to do.
“You two are an unlikely pair,” Marcelo said suddenly.
He was diligently folding baby clothes, not even looking at you.
You were about to ask for clarity when he kept speaking.
“You and Benito,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Like, it doesn’t make sense, really, but it does. They do say opposites attract.”
“Yeah,” you said cautiously, “I guess so.”
“He told me about your family and Boyfriend in New York. I’m sorry about them.”
“It’s okay. It’s not anyone here’s fault.” You shook your head, speaking low.
“You think about your boyfriend a lot?”
It was a question, but the way he phrased it spoke more to you like he already knew the answer. So, you simply nodded to Marcelo.
“Do you like him?”
“My… boyfriend?”
“Do you like Benito?”
The direct question made you pause. It’s not that you had to think of your answer either, but you were unable to say anything out loud.
Surprising yourself, you let out a shaky breath of air, feeling tears prick at the back of your eyes. Marcelo’s eyes softened as he watched your expression shift.
“Of course I do.”
The words came out of you like they were breaking free from a brick wall.
“And you want to be with him?”
You weren’t sure how to answer, so you shrugged, staying honest,
“I think so, yeah.”
“Then, why aren’t you… together? I mean, if I were you, I’d be jumping on him the second I could. No hesitation.”
You let out a laugh; a sincere one, but shook your head.
“I’m scared.”
“But why?”
“I wish I knew why,” another sigh escaped your lips, “He’s trying to find his family. And… Well, I’m only going to be a distraction. If something were to ever happen to him on my watch, I-I wouldn’t be able to live with myself–”
The words were flowing out of you before you could stop them, but Marcelo’s hand landed softly on your shoulder, effectively interrupting your racing words and thoughts.
“Hey. Sweetheart. Don’t you think he’s thinking the same thing about you?”
“Yeah, but,” You tilted your head back, trying to keep more tears from escaping, “He might be, but he shouldn’t be. And I shouldn’t be. It's just…”
“Complicated, I know,” Marcelo said with a nod, “I lost my girlfriend too.”
You paused, catching his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was back home in Miami, and I wasn’t there for her like I wanted to be. I regret it every day, not being with her, or bringing her with me. And thinking of being with someone else doesn’t always feel right.” He squeezed your shoulder, “But if someone came along that made me look at them the way Benito looks at you, then maybe that would change. Everyone deserves happiness, even in times like these
“What’s in the past is in the past. This is the present right now. All kinds of feelings can happen at once; you can grieve one love while falling again. There’s no timeline, or rulebook. If you and Benito make each other happy, here and now, then worrying about the past is only going to drive you bananas.”
“I think it already has.”
“Then why go crazier?” He laughed a little, “If you ask me, I think your chains are already tied.”
You took a deep breath.
Your tears were still forming, but part of the pain in your heart subsided because Marcelo was right. There really wasn’t a reason to keep trying to change what was already done.
Marcelo helped you wipe away some of the tears from your cheeks with one of the little baby handkerchiefs, making you smile a little.
Although you were sure to overthink still, there was a sort of clarity that floated through your head.
The two of you continued to fold and talk for a while. You’d even found out that he’d been staying in a hotel only a couple of blocks away from you when the sickness hit.
When you finished with the clothes, you made your way down the stairs to check on Benito, but before you could even make it all the way down, said curly haired man was jogging toward you. Once he was close enough, he grabbed your hand.
For a moment, he didn’t meet your eyes, keeping them fixed on your fingers.
“You okay?” his finger brushed up against your knuckles
“I’m okay now.”
“¿Hice algo?”
He pointed to himself, and you shook your head.
“No. You haven’t done anything,” your fingers brushed against his deliberately.
“Dime por qué llorabas.” His warm hand reached up to caress your cheek, brushing just under your right eye with his thumb, “You can talk to me.”
“I know.” You sighed, glancing around you. You didn’t think this was an appropriate area for a confession of sorts. Benito seemed to notice your weary look and gave you a nod. He didn’t let go of your hand, squeezing it as if to tell you the conversation wasn’t done.
Instead, he brought you over to sit in front of the fire with him, giving you one of the first plates of food for the night.
Once everyone came out for dinner again, it was hard to feel sad or confused or melancholy. You were still able to talk to people and have normal conversation, but that looming feeling between you and Benito stalked in the air.
Your talk with Marcelo had made things a little clearer for you, but you still weren’t certain how to talk to him about any of this.
Some music was played again, but not as many people went over to dance. The songs they played weren’t slower, but they were softer; less energetic, boisterous, but more traditional sounding.
Even still, Benito grabbed your hand, pulling you up to come dance with him.
He guided your arms around his shoulders, much like he had the night before, but this time he placed his hands on your hips. He didn’t try any fancy moves; he simply swayed the two of you back and forth.
Again, you tried to live in the moment. You knew once you were that this was something you would possibly never get again once you left from the motel.
As the two of you got more comfortable, he dipped his head until his nose brushed against your neck. Your chin rested against his shoulder, leaning your head into his too. He wasn’t singing as much as the night before, but he’d still occasionally hum, sending a rumble through your chest.
You two danced for a long time, just wanting to be near to him as much as possible.
When the music concluded for the night and everyone was heading to bed, the two of you walked slowly to your rooms. He held your hand lightly until you two got to the room, peeling back your hands from each other only at the last second.
Once inside your room, you sat on the bed, motionless.
There was shuffling happening next door, like he was pacing around the room again. You wondered if you should go over there. He’d said you could talk to him, and you knew you could, but you were still hesitant.
Being alone meant you could think more about your feelings, maybe even come to terms with them a bit more, but you weren’t in the right space to keep thinking. You were tired of thinking so hard.
Just as you were going to stand, your door clicked open.
You were startled, as the dark only left his silhouette in the doorway. It was unmistakably him by the mess of curls, but your heart still started to pound in your chest.
“Benito?” You whispered anyway.
“Cariño.” He breathed out.
“Do… you need something?”
The door shut behind him with a soft thud as he made the few steps to the bed beside you, answering your question for you. He took the spot beside you on the bed, sitting with his thigh pressed flush against yours.
There wasn’t much light to see with, but you could feel a lot.
Just like earlier, he reached for your hand, taking it in his. He laced your fingers together slowly, as if testing the waters, before placing it on his thigh.
“Talk to me.” He pleaded, “Please.”
Your brain was sparking with thought on just how to answer, but you weren’t thinking; you just wanted to focus on the warmth of his hand.
“Te vi llorando… With Marcelo. You cried.” He murmured just for you when you didn’t answer, “Why? Did I make you upset?”
Even in the darkness, you could feel his eyes bore into yours. He hadn’t ever pushed for questions, but this seemed to be heavy on his mind.
Once again the breath you took in was shaky.
“No. Not you. I upset myself.”
You waited for him to say something else, but he was urging; wanting you to continue your thoughts out loud.
“You’re supposed to find your family, Benito. That’s got to be the scariest thing in the world for you. And...” You spoke slowly, too worked up to think of the right words. You squeezed his hand, “This is the scariest thing for me.”
“This?”
Your cheeks were beginning to turn a bright red and you looked away - anywhere else but his eyes. The fabric of the bed became extremely interesting to you as your free hand began to pick at it.
“Us.”
“You’re scared?”
His voice was filled with sincerity, but you could tell he still wasn’t understanding quite yet. You could feel your heart start to race again.
“I’m scared of falling for you.”
Benito went silent. He didn’t even breathe.
You wished it weren’t so dark so you could see what his full reaction was, but at the same time, you didn’t want to look at him either- too scared.
The dam had burst, and you couldn’t stop yourself anymore.
“You’re all I think about now, and I want you near me all of the time.” The words were coming out of you quickly; too desperately, “I-I can’t help the way I’m feeling about you. And that’s confusing and terrifying after what happened with Nate–”
“Slow down, please, mi querida.”
You finally chanced a glance back up to meet his eyes, barely visible but gleaming in pale moonlight. He was reading you; trying really hard to understand and absorb every word you were saying.
He was looking at you like you were everything.
You desperately thought of words to translate for him, but your head was so tired. The lack of sleep was really starting to catch up to you.
Instead of thinking too hard, you settled on the phrase that had been in your mind since the day you’d met him:
“Te necesito. I need you, Benito.”
Before you could even register, a tear fell from your eye. Benito was quick to reach up and swipe it away for you. It seemed he understood then, or at least didn’t press you anymore.
Slowly, he pulled on your arm until you got the message to move with him.
He adjusted the blankets for you to crawl into them, and once you were situated, he laid down beside you, facing you. As gently as he could, he placed one arm under you to act as a pillow. Benito wrapped his other arm tightly around your waist, pulling you in closer. Your knees locked and twined together, just as they had when you danced. Your arms held his waist just as close to you.
Ever so gently, he pressed your foreheads together.
Being so close, you could feel his heart racing too.
“Okay?” He whispered, playing with your hair.
“Si,” you whispered back, choking back the tired tears that threatened to fall, “Mas que bien.”
He let out a chuckle, just as shaky as yours, “Bueno.”
Neither of you moved besides his hand that caressed the back of your head. To both your relief and disappointment, nothing happened; you knew he was too gentleman to try anything while you were feeling this way.
As the two of you laid together, your heartrate finally began to slow and the warmth of the man beside you settled into your bones. You could feel your eyelids growing heavier as Benito pulled you closer into his chest.
He adjusted again so his face buried into your neck.
“Te necesito también.” He murmured; the vibration of his voice filled you with a fuzzy feeling, “I don’t want to be without you. Me gusta estar contigo, Cariño.”
You hummed out what you thought was a thoughtful response about going with him anywhere, but came out unintelligible. He let out a laugh, making his chest rumble again.
“Ai…” He tutted, “Vete a dormir, mi querida.”
Against your neck, he placed a soft kiss and began to hum another song you didn’t recognize.
Quickly, and deeply, you finally fell asleep.
end a.n. you guys are once again the greatest! I opened my asks in case anyone wanted to request things, give feedback, or chat! Treat me like one of your old school tumblr writer asks :)
tags. @percysley, @chwrryontop, @rinam1rie, @whiteghostlyclouds, @forwardsreckonreboundddd
