griffinsvanity :
Cariño⊠The word made Griffinâs stomach clench. It was either that, or the jolt of his misstep. Either way, he ended up in front of the stranger, looking up with glossy blue eyes. It wasnât Silva. It wasnât Griffinâs ex. This man was a stranger- a stranger with a soft voice, and warm hands. Griffin could feel the warmth of the manâs hand now against the stark chill that the December night had soaked into his skin. Back to your barâŠÂ Griffin thought about it for a moment. He had wanted so badly to go dancing. He wanted to forget the whole night and drown it in lights and warm bodies. Back to the bar meant back to people who knew him and had watched him get drunk. Given the state of things though, dancing was going to be difficultâŠas was getting home. Passing out at the bar wasnât a bad choice. Griffin hadnât realized that he was silent until the man tapped him on the arm, and Griffin refocused on the manâs kind eyes. âAlright, darlinâ.â He grinned, offering a nod. âGracias⊠eres muy dulce.â The confidence of the rum had him convinced that the phrases heâd learned years ago were flawless and perfectly fit for this situation. He had forgotten most of their literal meaning. He only remembered the context: Silva whispering the words to him as Griffin cooked breakfast for two in the kitchen.Â
There it was. He was spaced out again. The tap on his forehead was enough to bring him back around and Griffin blinked a few times and tried to straighten himself up. He wanted to either be more alert, or much drunker. This in between state was dreadful. âCiroâŠâ Griffin responded with a nod. âYeah⊠âm Griffin Arsenio.â Usually the words âmaybe youâve heard of meâ wouldâve immediately followed, but as soon as his slurred name left his mouth, a vicious gust of wind whipped between the tall city buildings and for the first time, Griffin really, truly felt how cold he was. His whole body shivered and he had to clench his teeth to make sure he didnât bite the side of his tongue. âJesus fucking Christ.â He cursed, sucking in a breath when the wind passed. His body quivered again, more softly this time. âYeah⊠my jacket⊠its back at the bar.â His brow furrowed. What an idiot he was. âNot a bar though⊠just to warn you. Itâs a strip club. Vanity. Itâs⊠back that way.â He pointed back down the sidewalk the way he had came. âJust a couple blocks.â His brow furrowed for a moment. âItâs all girls⊠Donât worry about them though. Itâs âcause its smart. I donât know how straight guys run clubs with girls. If I had all guys⊠itâd be harder, you know? So its girls.â Griffin wasnât sure this was the kind of head clearing he was supposed to be doing, but the talking was keeping his mind off the cold. âTheyâll make you a drink though.â
A familiar endearment in his native tongue made Ciro grin. It was all teeth, his heart warming at the memories it brought up from his childhood, before all the shit that went down. Fleeting words spoken by his mother after picking her flowers, abuelita pinching his cheek when he offered to help with dinner, when he bought gifts for his family. Even now, the words reminded him of warm sands and scorching sun back home, but it was brushed away with the wind that swept over his body, reminding him of the cold. His chin met the softness of his scarf as he looked down, letting the compliment fade into the depths of his memories. He brushed a cold hand over his cheek before lift his eyes again, taking a breath to collect his nerves, to leave the old ways of thinking. This was New York, nowhere near Spain. New people, new endearments. Still, the idea of those words being spoken again kept a smile on Ciroâs face through the awkwardness that threatened to fill the air. âSpanish? Estoy sorprendido - Iâm surprised.â It was filled with benevolence, not in a way a foreigner would mock someone of a different culture. âIt was good. You do still sound like an American though.â Many Americans still sounded like their countrymen when speaking Spanish, but it was the effort that counted. The man didnât look like he was from a Hispanic country, but learning languages today was easy. It was sweet, really. Â
 The name, when it registered, gave Ciro a moment to reflect. He recognized the name, but he couldnât place the face. Maybe it had been someone he had met when he first arrived in America, maybe it was a name heâd heard back home during his modeling days. Maybe it was just his imagination. Ciro nodded, echoing the name in case he had gotten it wrong, or heard something else. The slurred edge to Griffins voice wasnât helping anything, but Ciro didnât feel like mentioning it. If it had been earlier, he was sure to be in the same shape. Maybe later, after some margaritas and tequila shots. âItâs cold. I didnât even realize, here-â He wrapped the scarf from around his neck, the cold biting deep into the bare skin of his neck. Ciro felt his shoulders tense at the sudden shift but still manged to twirl the pre-warmed length of fabric around Griffins neck. âThere you go! Warmer, sĂ?â He patted the scarf on both sides and straightened it before gesturing towards the end of the block. It was getting later, and colder with each passing minute. In retrospect, he should have offered his jacket, but just being rid of the warmth around his neck made Ciro shiver. He wrapped his arms around himself when the step started to take them towards the club. A strip club. If the freeze in the air hadnât already colored his cheeks red, they would have gained the shade by now. He hadnât been to a strip club before, no matter how hard Mariela tried to get him to go. It felt strange, and thinking about naked people wasnât the best thing to do when trying to save a man from hypothermia. âNo guys?â He joked, the laugh clouding his breath in the winter air. âThen you will have no trouble from me chico, Not that I would have been trouble for guys either! Iâm sorry, Iâm sure your girls make a good drink. How come you did not stay there? Or take a taxi? Itâs so cold out here.â













