The sea breeze came in with salt and humidity, and the roof creaked every now and then like it remembered how old it was. The terrace opened right up to the ocean — a flat, endless blue, broken only by waves crashing on the sand. The sun had been gone for a while, but the air was still warm. One of those nights where breathing didn't hurt.
Saval was sitting on the wooden railing, feet dangling, while Semiel watched him from the couch. They'd spent the whole day in quiet bursts. Short walks, a light lunch, a nap shared without touching. Saval seemed calmer than before, but Semiel knew that wasn't the same as being okay.
—Does it bother you that I stay quiet all the time? —Saval asked suddenly, not looking at him.
Semiel looked up. His voice was soft.
—No. I like being with you, even when you're not saying anything.
Saval nodded. The wind pushed his hair back, and his eyes were fixed on the sea like he was waiting for something to rise out of it. Something that wasn't water or foam. Something with answers.
—I still think about her sometimes —he said then, his tone a mix of guilt and resignation.
Semiel didn't need a name.
Antonella.
—It's not that I miss her —Saval clarified—. It's more like… I don't know. Feels like a lot of things broke when she left. Like she took a part of all of us with her. Or maybe just a part of me.
Semiel pressed his lips together. He wanted to say something —but he didn't. He just listened. That name still living between them hurt, but not out of jealousy. It was because he knew how much she'd meant to Saval. And deep down, he was afraid he'd never be able to fill that space.
—I don't hate her —Saval went on—. But I don't know if I ever really knew her. You ever feel that? Being so close to someone you swear you know them, and then one day you realize you never understood them at all?
—Yeah —Semiel said almost instantly.
Saval looked at him, curious. Semiel met his gaze for a second, then looked away.
—Who was it? —Saval asked.
Semiel hesitated.
—Myself —he finally said.
Saval let out a short, tired laugh.
—Heh, that's a good one. Definitely sounds like something you'd say.
Silence fell again —but it wasn't the same. It wasn't uncomfortable. There was something heavier in the air now, like they both knew they were standing at the edge of an important conversation. But neither of them was ready to take that step.
The night grew darker. The sea was just a faint murmur now. Semiel got up and went inside, came back with two beers. He handed one to Saval, who took it with a thankful smile. They clinked bottles like they were celebrating something neither of them could name.
—Thanks for bringing me here —Saval said after a sip.
Semiel glanced at him. From someone else's mouth, that would've just been a thank you. From Saval, it was a confession.
—I knew you needed to get away —he replied.
—Don't you?
—I always need to get away from myself. But you're enough.
Again, Saval looked at him. Semiel felt the beer rising faster in his chest than his head. He cleared his throat.
—You know what hurt the most about everything that happened with her? —Saval asked, not waiting for an answer—. I used to think that if she ever left, I'd break. But I didn't. I stayed in one piece. Just... empty.
Semiel swallowed hard. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't sound selfish or like he was trying to take advantage.
—Sometimes I feel like I was a complete idiot for everything I did for her —Saval added.
—You weren't an idiot —at least not a total one —Semiel said, this time with a little more strength—. You were in love.
—And that makes everything okay?
—No. But it explains a lot.
Saval leaned back against the railing, eyes closed. Semiel watched him quietly. The moonlight barely lit the edges of his face. He felt that old urge to say what he'd been holding in for so long. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, pulsing like something alive trying to break free. But he didn't. He couldn't.
Saval opened his eyes.
—Have you ever been in love like that? —he asked.
Semiel hesitated. His heart was racing.
—Yeah.
—And did it break you?
—Not yet —he said, with a sad smile.
—Why don't you tell them? That person. Maybe… maybe that's what gets you out of the limbo.
Semiel shrugged.
—Sometimes loving in silence feels safer than risking everything.
Saval looked at him for a moment, like he was trying to really understand that answer. Then he nodded.
—Yeah. I get you more than I thought.
The rest of the night went by quietly. They talked about small stuff—songs, books, old college memories. Saval laughed again, that soft laugh that made Semiel want to stay in that moment forever. But something had changed in him. Like that conversation had taken some weight off. Or like he was starting to see new things.
By the time morning crept in, Saval had fallen asleep out on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket. Semiel sat nearby, watching the fire die out. The sky was full of stars, and the sound of the ocean had grown louder.
He thought about what Saval had said: I don't know if I'm capable of loving someone like that again.
And he told himself:
I could love you even like this. Even broken.
But he didn't say it out loud.
Because it still wasn't the right time.
And for now, just having him close was enough to keep breathing.