Chapter 3 What I Shouldn't Feel

The early morning air had that sharp edge that cuts your chest when you breathe too fast. Julián walked along the sidewalk, still wearing his uniform, his boots making a dull sound against the dewy cement. The streets were empty, barely lit by yellowish streetlights that cast misshapen shadows. Something heavy churned in his stomach. He didn't know if it was guilt, desire... or both at the same time.

He didn't understand how he'd gotten to this point. Well, he did. Step by step. A shared laugh. A night with more complicity than necessary. A look that lasted too long. And now, that damned scene. That kiss.

Camila.

He gritted his teeth, as if the memory had substance and he could bite it away.

His head ached. The wine on his breath mixed with adrenaline wasn't a good combination. His shirt felt still wrinkled, impregnated with her perfume. And that made it worse. Because he couldn't stop smelling her. Remembering her.

"Fucking hell..." he muttered, kicking a rock angrily.

It wasn't just that he'd kissed his best friend's girlfriend. It was who Camila was. He'd been seeing her for years, greeting her with two kisses when they visited, sharing barbecues, Christmases, laughter. He'd always thought she was cute. Of course she had. How could he not? But he'd never crossed the line. Never. Until that night.

Until she walked into the house with Nico, laughing at an absurd anecdote about a passenger who had tried to smuggle in a coffee pot full of bills. He lingered outside for a few seconds longer to finish his cigarette. When he entered, he thought he saw Camila's shadow crossing the hallway. Then he heard her, her voice hoarse with sleep, saying "I missed you." And before he could process anything... there she was.

Her arms. Her lips. Her warmth.

She hadn't fought back. She hadn't backed down. And that was what pissed him off the most. Because, if he was honest, he didn't want to do it. His body reacted before his morale. It was as if a part of him had been expecting something like this for a long time, buried under layers of self-control and misguided loyalty.

He stopped dead in front of his building. He took out his keys and looked at them without seeing them, frowning. In his other hand, he still had his cell phone, but he hadn't received a single message. No "are you okay?", no "sorry," not even a "are you awake?" Just silence.

He entered the apartment. The smell of confinement greeted him as always. He left his uniform thrown on the couch and went straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stepped in without waiting for the water to warm up.

The cold water hit his skin as if trying to punish every inch of his body.

"This didn't happen."

Camila's voice was still ringing in his head. But it had happened. And it wasn't just the kiss. It was everything that followed. Because Julián knew himself. He knew when something was superficial and when it wasn't.

And what he'd felt with her... it wasn't trivial.

He pressed his palms against the tiles, letting the water fall on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes. He saw her again. The way she had clung to him. The way she kissed him, without hesitation, as if she'd been waiting for him all night. That moment when their bodies understood each other, as if they were pieces that already knew how to fit together.

And then, the fear. The horror reflected in his eyes when he heard Nico's voice.

Julián felt a pang in his chest. Not just because of the mistake, but because he knew-with an uncomfortable clarity-that he wouldn't be able to forget her. That that night wouldn't be an isolated accident in his head. She was coming back. Like an echo. Like an obsession.

And worst of all: he wanted her back.

He abruptly turned off the shower. He dried himself off without looking in the mirror. He couldn't bear the look he knew he'd find there.

He went back to the living room, threw himself down on the couch with a towel around his waist, and turned on the TV without the volume. The lights on the screen flickered over his face, but he wasn't seeing anything. He was only listening to his own thoughts.

And now what the hell do I do?

Should he tell Nico? Impossible. Should he keep it to himself? Bury it? He could try. He could pretend nothing happened. He could... yes. But he knew everything was going to change. Because he wasn't the same after that kiss.

And if he wasn't imagining it all, neither was Camila.

He sighed, his hands clasping his neck. There was a line he'd crossed. The problem was, he didn't know if he wanted to go back.

And somewhere deep inside him, an idea began to grow. Slowly, treacherously, like a seed accidentally planted:

What if Camila felt something too? What if it wasn't just a mistake? What if... there was something more between them?

For the first time in his life, he wished Nico hadn't invited him to live at his house that night.

And at the same time, he knew it wouldn't change anything.