Part 2 - The Date
Hey, y'all. I had hoped to post this early last week, but childhood trauma decided to join the conversation, and here we are. It is looking like this is gonna be a shorter series, though, so I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I make no promises.
Description: You and Pero have your first date and as promised, he cooks for you. But it's the conversation that is the real treat of this evening, because you finally get to learn more about this mystery of a man, and share some things of your own.
Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader, reader is not described but there are descriptions of clothing in this part, mention of road rage and a fatal crash, mention of problematic mental health (neither reader nor Pero), one mention of adhd, mention of the Cali cartel and associated issues.
Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 10,460 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics
He goes directly to the store at the end of the workday, still screaming internally at the mere fact that you invited him to your home, not to mention that you’re calling it a date. But the voice inside of him isn’t just screaming with excitement. There’s massive quantities of fear and anxiousness in there as well, because he has no clue how to behave on a date, or what you might expect from him, beyond him being nice to you. Therefor he passes as much time as possible strolling down the aisles and busying himself with looking around the entire store just in case he finds something other than the ingredients he needs.
Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory. But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.
He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies. Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment? You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?
With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it. He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.
Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear. Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.
That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again. Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.
He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout. This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.
“Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.
She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.
“Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.
“It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.
“Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.
Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go. He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you. Why did he get so many?
It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date. Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.
You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up. But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.
Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously. You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.
There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry. Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.
It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work. You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.
But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough? Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know. At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral. You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.
Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses. You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.
The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything. You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.
“Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.
“Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.
The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out. Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met. You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.
“Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”
He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly. The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.
You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you. He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.
Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this? It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in… If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.
To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.
“Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.
“Yes. But I did not ride here.”
“No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”
He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in. You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.
“I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.
“O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.
“How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.
And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”
“I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.
“Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”
“You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”
“No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over. She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”
You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.
“My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”
“I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are. I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”
“It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”
“How so?”
“Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without. At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month. So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”
“They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.
“No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”
Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.
“And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.
“Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back. I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear. He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”
“How much younger are you than your brother?”
“Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”
“Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”
“It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn. And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.
“Is your brother dead?”
“No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out. I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.
“I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.
“Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.
But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.
“Yes, you do.”
“So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.
“No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.
But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same. It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.
“I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”
“So, your mom raised you?”
“For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited. She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”
“As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.
“Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead. I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”
“How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”
“No. I only heard about it several years later.”
“Why? What happened to you?”
He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.
“The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”
“I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.
“I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.
He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet. Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see. Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.
“I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which. We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters. So, what did you do?”
You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that. And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.
“Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.
He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet. You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.
“What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.
He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.
“You have not looked it up?”
“Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.
“How do you know I will not make something up?”
“Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”
“How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.
There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.
“Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”
“Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.
“Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians. And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone. So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”
The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.
“I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”
“I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.
But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are. He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.
“About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.
“No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”
“And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.
“Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”
Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you. You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.
“Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.
He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night. But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.
“Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”
“Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.
“When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”
“Oh no, that was very intentional.”
You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.
“What do you mean?”
“Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves. So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”
“Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”
“Yes.”
This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.
“But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.
“The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”
Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.
“You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”
Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness. He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.
“Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.
You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas. They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.
“It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.
“Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house. But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on. I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”
He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably. But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.
“This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”
“Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”
“It is only a machine.”
“A pretty darn impressive one.”
“But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”
“Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”
“If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”
“Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”
He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around. For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.
The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.
“So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.
“It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal. Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.
“We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”
“Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”
“He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies. For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”
Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.
“This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it. I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”
He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you. Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling. And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.
“Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”
The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you. You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.
“But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”
The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you. He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.
Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way. All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.
“If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you’ve done versus how much evil. Worth is a gift that other people give you.”
He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.
“You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you. And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are. Do you hear me?”
You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word. And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.
“I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”
“Okay. Why?”
“It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”
By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot. He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it. But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.
You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing. There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it. This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.
“Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.
“I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”
He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure. Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.
“I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”
“Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.
“Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.
But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.
“Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”
“I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”
“No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”
“I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.
“Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.
“Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”
He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences. What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down. Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.
“One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”
“Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”
“No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”
“Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”
“See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.
Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.
“So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”
He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year. But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.
“If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.
“Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.
“Yes. I promise.”
Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater. Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.
“Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”
“Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”
Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple. You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure. E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.
“Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.
“Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”
“I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”
“Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”
Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you. It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.
“Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”
“We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.
“Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”
“But that’s not our fault…”
“No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”
He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight. But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.
“What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”
“I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”
It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention. He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss. You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.
“I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”
“I’d like that very much.”
The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.
“Oh, sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”
“No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.
But before you can tell him that, he continues.
“Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought. But here…”
From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life. You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.
“He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.
“You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”
“Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.
“I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”
“You too. Goodnight, Pero.”
He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about. But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that. You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.
Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest. No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago. What a difference a day makes.
Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰
@pedrostories @harriedandharassed @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream
