This Means War

6. - RAFAEL -

six

- RAFAEL -

T he first thing I notice when I wake up in a living room chair is the sunlight pouring through the windows, painting streaks of gold across the floor. The second thing I see is the steady rhythm of someone breathing nearby.

It’s a Sunday morning.

Quiet.

Calm.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair and letting my eyes adjust to the light. The familiar nature of my living room greets me—the hard lines, the subtle gleam of the polished floor, and, on the couch, Luis.

He’s sprawled out, one arm dangling off the edge, his head resting against the arm’s cushion at an angle that can’t possibly be comfortable. His shoes are off—kicked to the floor sometime after we’d stopped talking and he just... stayed .

I stand, stretching out the stiffness in my back. It takes a moment to piece together how we ended up here.

Last night. The beers. The silence that said more than the words we didn’t say.

And now, this.

Luis, in my space, as if he belongs here.

I lean against the hallway wall, arms crossed, and take him in. His usually precise hair is mussed, and the shirt he fell asleep in is wrinkled. The sight is deeply domestic, and for a brief, absurd moment, I wonder what it would be like if this was normal. If I woke up every morning to the sound of his breathing, his presence filling the quiet.

He shifts, murmuring something unintelligible before settling deeper into the couch.

Dangerous thoughts, Rafael.

‘Don’t ask. Don’t tell.’ That isn’t the official rule anymore, but that doesn’t mean such things aren’t still considered blackmail material everywhere.

I head to the kitchen. The sound of my footsteps muted against the floor. Coffee. That’s what I need. Something strong enough to shake off the lingering haze of last night.

The machine hums to life, filling the air with the scent of freshly ground beans. By the time I pour a cup, Luis stirs.

“Morning, sunshine,” I call out, my tone light, teasing.

He groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Why is it so bright in here?”

“Because it’s daytime.”

He sits up slowly, squinting at me like I’m the one to blame for the existence of sunlight. “Why don’t you have curtains?”

I shrug. “My living room doesn’t usually need them.”

Luis mutters something under his breath and leans back, his eyes falling shut again.

“Coffee?” I offer, holding up the extra mug I’ve poured.

He cracks one eye open, looking at me like I’ve just handed him the keys to the kingdom. “You’re being a saint this morning.”

I snort, handing him the mug. “Don’t push it.”

He takes a sip, sighing in a way that’s almost obscene. “You know, for someone who pretends to hate indulgence, you make a damn good cup of coffee.”

“It’s the type you said was good.”

“Really?” Luis says, sitting up straighter. “That stuff so expensive I don’t even buy it.”

“See the good that happens when you buy things you don’t need?”

“Rafael Leon Castillo,” he starts in a tone that should sound punishing but is rather decadent, “Curtains?”

“It’s called balance.”

Luis smirks and sets the mug down on the table beside him. “Is that what you are calling it?”

The playful edge in his voice is too familiar, too easy to fall into. It’s a game we’ve played for years—one where every word is a challenge, every glance a move on a game board neither of us can walk away from.

But today, it feels different.

Maybe it’s the quiet. Or the fact that he’s still here, his presence lingering like the scent of coffee and sunlight.

“Why’d you stay?” I ask, breaking the silence.

Luis shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Fell asleep, I guess.”

It’s a simple answer. Too simple.

I lean against the counter, studying him. “You’re not usually this careless.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “And you’re not usually this hospitable. Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

The air shifts, heavy with something unspoken.

Luis looks up at me, his gaze sharp despite the lazy slouch of his posture. “You gonna stare at me all morning, or are we doing something?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Something?”

He grins. The kind that’s all teeth and challenge. “I don’t know. You’re the one usually dragging me into the gym. Which I pray you excuse me from today. All the drinking and late nights recently have messed up my sleep schedule. So, what’s the new plan, Raf?”

The familiar spark of rivalry pulls me in, even as I try to resist it. “Yeah, hardly seems like a fair fight considering.”

Luis scoffs, stretching his arms above his head. The motion pulls his shirt tight across his chest, and I force myself to look away, focusing on the calendar pinned to the wall instead.

Sunday. It’s just a normal Sunday.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing my keys. “We’re going out.”

Luis raises an eyebrow. “Out where?”

“You’ll see.”

The streets are quiet, the usual chaos of the city subdued in the soft glow of a Sunday morning. Luis follows me without question, his hands shoved into his pockets, his steps matching mine.

I take him to a park—not the one near the café, but another spot I know. It’s tucked away, hidden and green, with a view of the river that stretches out like a silver ribbon in the sunlight. I don’t know how Luis misses the morning so often since it’s the best time of day.

Luis whistles low when we arrive. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Not everything’s a competition,” I reply, though the words feel like a lie.

We sit on a bench near the water. The sound of the river filling the silence between us. For a while, neither of us spoke.

It’s Luis who breaks the quiet.

“So, Monica,” he says, his tone casual. “How long are you meant to be on guard duty?”

I glance at him, unsure if he’s genuinely curious or just trying to bait me. “Probably a week unless those fanboys can’t find anything else to be weird about.”

He shakes his head, leaning back against the bench. “Do you want them to be?”

“For my sake, yeah.”

Luis chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re taking winning her heart this seriously.”

I wasn’t, but I bristle over his tone. “Shouldn’t I be?”

The question hangs in the air, heavier than I intended.

Luis turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. “Guy stands up to his billionaire boss, wins a priceless girl, and they become the internet’s next It couple.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. “Sorry to dash your fantasy of meeting a girl boss at work and becoming an international power couple squabbling over trade details.”

“You always make it sound like you are criticizing a Star Wars prequel,” he says. “It’s just what I do.”

“Is it?”

I meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes cutting through the facade I’ve been clinging to. “You really aren’t going to back off from this, are you?”

“Why should I?”

“Because—” The thought begins but then he pulls it back. “How often do I get to meet someone I like as much as her? I see you flirting with women all the time.”

“That’s different,” I say, my voice sharp. “Flirting is easy. This… this feels like a mistake waiting to happen.”

“A mistake?” he repeats, leaning in. “What are you on about?”

The posture is meant to be intimidating. But I don’t flinch, meeting his stare head-on. His words lose their elegance when he’s flustered. And ruffling his feathers, seeing him puff up, is far too enjoyable. “You’re cute when you’re trying so hard,” I say, letting a smirk tug at the corner of my lips. “I’ll give you that.”

“Fuck you,” Luis huffs, his jaw tightening as a faint flush creeps up his neck. He gets up off the bench, fingers flaring next to his sides. See this is exactly why we usually end up working out instead. All that pent-up energy needs to go somewhere. I watch him like a cat wanting to bat at his favorite mouse.

“You know what,” he says and I stand up too, the space between us narrowing. Then he blinks. Glances around at the park as if he forgot where north is. “I don’t need this. I got work tomorrow.”

“Luis, come on,” I laugh at the absurdity of it. “You going to let some girl get in between us?”

“You think you’re going to win her by default because you… can arm-wrestle better than me, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

And in with those words, I feel it—the weight of everything I ever said but barely meant.