Fluffuary 3
The apartment smelled faintly of garlic and onions, the same way it had decades ago in Rudy’s childhood home.
Alejandro groaned softly from the couch, blanket pulled up to his chin, one hand clutching a mug of tea that did little to ease the ache in his chest. The flu had hit him hard, leaving him weak, feverish, and far from his usual unshakable self.
Rudy moved quietly in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup he’d made from memory, his abuela’s old recipe tucked into his head like sacred knowledge. Every chop of onion, every pinch of salt, every swirl in the broth was exactly how his grandmother had taught him—and how his mother had taught him before she…
He shook the thought off and focused. Alejandro needed this.
A few minutes later, Rudy set the steaming bowl down in front of Alejandro, brushing a hand over his shoulder. “Here,” he said softly. “Eat. You need it.”
Alejandro’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at the bowl, and then at Rudy, a strange warmth creeping through him. His lips quirked into a weak smile. “…This smells… familiar.”
Rudy grinned faintly. “It should. Abuela taught me well. And my mom… well, she always made sure I remembered how to take care of friends.”
Alejandro swallowed, eyes misting slightly. Memories flashed unbidden: the little living room when he’d been eight, Rudy fussing over him with soup, blankets, and reassurance while his own mother took care of emergencies elsewhere. The warmth of the house, the quiet laughter of Rudy’s grandparents, the safety he had felt leaning against Rudy’s shoulder.
He let out a small, hoarse laugh. “Rudy… you’ve done this before.”
Rudy shrugged, cheeks tinting pink. “Yeah. You were sick once. Took care of you. You—uh—you didn’t appreciate it much back then.”
Alejandro chuckled, shaking his head, his hand brushing over Rudy’s as he lifted the spoon. “I remember. I remember exactly how you fussed over me. And… it felt like home.”
Rudy’s smile softened, a little vulnerable. “Some things never change.”
Alejandro ate slowly, savoring the soup—and the memory.
When he set down the empty bowl, he met Rudy’s eyes. No words were needed. The memory had spoken for both of them.