Andres had never been the kind of person to look at someone and regret everything he'd said—everything he'd done—to them. Especially not you.

You were just the annoying little shit that couldn't take a hint, even if it were plastered onto a billboard the size of a football field. Those little smiles you shot Andres, the constant presence at his games, the quiet, reverent compliments. They all grated on Andres's nerves, and he wasn't afraid to show it.

Anytime you came even remotely near him, he rolled his eyes and turned away. Whenever he actually spoke to you—whether it was out of obligation or... well it was always obligation—he spoke in a tone so monotone and disinterested that a person would think he was talking to a wall about the oddly shaped cloud in the sky.

It was so incredibly obvious that Andres resented every inch of the feelings you didn't bother hiding. And even then, you persisted. So much so, in fact, that all of Andres's friends eventually came to know you as his shadow and husband. If you were nowhere to be seen near him, they would sling a heavy arm around his shoulders and ask, cackling like babies, "¿Oye, y tu marido? ¡Jueputa, no me digas que te dejó!"

He'd always shove them off and tell them they were being stupid. How could someone like him ever find a way to tolerate such desperate behavior, let alone enjoy it? It was absolutely, awfully stupid, a thought like that. It always would be.

Until it wasn't.

Andres didn't think much of it the first day. You didn't say wave hi to him when he walked into the lecture hall. That was fine. One less thing to worry about in the web of infinitely annoying gestures he didn't appreciate. Then came the mess hall. You didn't acknowledge him. Didn't even look at him. Not even when Ale and Gabito forced him to sit beside you.

That was what caught Andres's attention. You always turned to say hello, always grinned at him, always tried sparking some sort of awkward conversation that Andres barely paid attention to. Now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. But maybe it was just a one-off kinda thing? Maybe, just maybe, you were distracted. An important assignment, family issues, friend issues, something, anything.

It was the only logical explanation, right? Wrong. The next day was the same, then the next, and the next, and every day after that until months had passed. It should have relieved Andres—it was the holy grail he'd been after since he could remember. But it felt wrong. Especially when he felt himself missing the lingering eye contact and those breathy laughs directed at him.

Fuck, he really was a damn idiot. He'd made it clear to everyone that he hated your attempted advances, but now that those little things were gone, he craved them like a bastard. He hadn't shown it at all, though. Not until now. Now when he stood beneath an absurdly large oak tree at the park near campus, his walk, which had been intended to let off some steam, came to an abrupt halt.

He'd stopped the second he spotted you sitting beneath a tree. It was a sight that, in the past, he would have turned a cheek to. He wouldn't have given it a second glance. But now he couldn't tear his eyes away. Not when everything he both hated and wanted sat so peacefully beneath a tree, dappled by the light straining through the tree leaves, almost like the sun itself couldn't bear to stay away. You looked calm, like you hadn't seismically shifted Andres's world in a way second only to witnessing his entire life being packed up into cheap suitcases.

It wasn't a conscious decision when Andres strode forward, his steps heavy against the soft grass. Only when he called out your name in an almost demanding tone did he realize what he was doing. But it was already too late. He couldn't just pretend to have accidentally called out for you and walk away like nothing was wrong. Even if he wanted to do that, he couldn't, because an inexplicable ache squeezed his heart when he even thought of letting this... thing slip through his fingers.

Still, that didn't mean he would let the gnawing throb show. He was far too stubborn a man to let that happen.

Andres stepped closer to your figure, stopping just close enough to where he didn't need to raise his voice for you to hear him, but far enough that you couldn't see the way his nails dug hellishly deep crescents into his palms. "What's your deal?" The question came out harsh, too harsh. It caught even Andres himself off guard.

He bit down, forcing his tone to relax, though he couldn't soothe the rough edges completely. "Just a couple months ago you were all over me. Now you look right through me like I'm some sorta ghost. What's up with that, huh? What's with the new act?"