With The Wrong Boyfriend

The house slept under a blanket of darkness and stillness. Only the oscillating fan broke the silence with its constant hum, like a mechanical whisper that seemed to try to lull the entire world to sleep. From the hallway, the echo of distant laughter occasionally crept in, as if the walls held fragments of a conversation that didn't belong to them.

Camila slept alone, tangled in the sheets of the double bed like a human donkey, barely visible among the jumble of white fabric and pillows. The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:57 a.m., with red numbers that seemed to blink anxiously. To one side, a half-finished bottle of wine rested next to an empty glass and a dead cell phone.

Nico, her boyfriend, had left hours ago to cover his night shift at the airport. He worked as part of the security team, and that night he was assigned to work alongside his best friend and inseparable companion: Julián. It was almost a tradition for them to return together, still in their uniforms, tired but laughing about things they never fully explained. Camila loved that conspiratorial air between them, although sometimes she felt more like a spectator than part of the team.

More than once she had joked that they looked like catalog models every time they walked through the door. "Sexy security," she called them, half-seriously, half-jokingly, after a couple of drinks.

That night, however, something changed.

The lock turned carefully. The front door opened with a barely audible creak. Clumsy, shuffling footsteps entered, like someone trying not to make a sound but not entirely sober. Muffled laughter was heard, a poorly executed "shh," and then, a voice. Familiar. All too familiar.

"Where did I leave the locker keys?" that voice asked from the hallway.

Camila, in her sleep, recognized it. Or thought she recognized it. It was Nico. It had to be. Half-drowsy, still drunk on sleep and wine, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She swayed a little, trying to focus on the approaching silhouette. A tall, broad-shouldered figure in the dark blue airport uniform.

The smile that spread across her face was automatic, instinctive. It was the kind of smile born of desire, of tenderness, of pent-up longing. Without a second thought, she walked toward the figure and hugged him tightly around the waist, pressing her face to his chest. She smelled the familiar scent of night work: a mix of cigarettes, metal, and perfume. Her heart slowed. Everything was fine. Nico was back.

"I missed you," she murmured, letting the words slip out like a sigh.

Julián didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react. He didn't even have time to warn her. He only felt her arms around him, her face warm against his chest, and then... her lips. At first, shy. Then more confident. The kiss grew with the intensity of a contained storm. It was deep, filled with something neither of them had planned to feel. Camila kissed him as if it were a certainty, as if she knew without a doubt that he was the man she'd been waiting for all night. Julián, on the other hand, was torn between the impulse to stop and the desire to stay right there, a little longer.

He tried to pull away.

"Cami, I..."

But she didn't give him any space. She pulled him closer, her lips searching for his as if he were the only real thing in a fog. Her body recognized him, even if her mind was mistaken.

Until, suddenly, a dry sound pierced the house: the door closing again.

They both froze.

Camila stepped back, frowning. The sound was clear. Another person had just entered.

"...Nico?"

The question escaped her before she could stop it. Julián didn't answer. He just looked at her, eyes wide open, breathing ragged, lips still wet. She observed him, for the first time with real attention. The angle of his jaw. The slight difference in height. The perfume... it wasn't the same.

Then she knew.

"You're not Nico!"

The silence that followed was thick, almost palpable. Julián scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. An awkward smile appeared on his lips, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"No... but I didn't complain either," he said quietly.

Camila took a step back, her face flushed, not only from embarrassment but also from the burning memory of those lips. Her breathing became erratic. She brought a hand to her mouth.

"What... what just happened?"

From the kitchen, a voice boomed like an alarm.

"Cami?! Are you awake?"

It was Nico.

Camila looked at Julián, in shock.

"Oh my God, hide or something!"

Without thinking twice, she ran to the door and slammed it shut, leaning her entire weight against it as if it could contain not only Nico, but also the truth that had just been revealed. Julián was still standing in the middle of the room, his uniform wrinkled, his breathing heavy, his lips still heavy with the taste of wine... and guilt.

"Camila..." he whispered, as if he hadn't yet realized what he thought had happened.

"Don't say anything. Not a word. This didn't happen, did you hear me?"

She wasn't even looking at him. She just squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the scene from her mind. But the body had memory. And that memory was very much alive.

"Are you sure you believe this?" Julián asked, taking a step toward her.

Camila finally looked at him. And in her eyes, there was something more than panic. Something more primal. A fire that had been extinguished for a long time and, with a mistake, had been rekindled.

But there was no time to think.

"You have to get out of here. Now. Before Nico comes in and..."

Knock, knock, knock.

"Camila? Are you okay?" I heard a noise.

Camila froze. So did Julián. As if moved by a spring, he slid toward the closet and slipped inside without a word. She closed the door just in time, as if it were a comedy of errors and not the beginning of something much more complicated.

The bedroom door opened.

"What are you doing awake? Did you dream about something strange?" Nico asked, entering with a long yawn.

Camila smiled, tense, nervous, as if she had a bomb under her pillow.

"Yes... I dreamed you weren't there. And I was scared."

Nico approached, kissed her forehead, and sank onto the bed with a sigh.

"I'm dead. I love you, you know that?"

She watched him silently. She felt her heart pounding in her throat. Not for him. But for the breathing figure contained in the closet, just a few feet away. For the kiss. For the fire.

And for the desire that, now, she could no longer ignore.

Julian's breathing was the only thing she could hear clearly. Each forced, held inhalation inside the closet seemed louder than her own heartbeat. Outside, in the dimness of the room, Nico had already taken off his shoes and was settling into bed, oblivious to the hurricane that had just passed-or rather, that was still blowing hard, a few feet away from him.

Camila remained standing, rigid, as if her body was afraid to move and trigger a catastrophe. She smiled with effort, her lips tense and her hands frozen. She felt the warmth of Julian's kiss still on her mouth, an imprint that wouldn't be erased.

"Are you coming to bed?" Nico asked as he settled under the sheets.

"Yes, I'm coming," she replied, forcing her voice to sound normal.

He took a few steps closer to the bed and lay down beside her without looking toward the closet. Her thoughts swirled in disarray: Is he breathing too hard? Can you hear his heartbeat? What if he's moving? What if...?

Nico turned toward her and put his arm around her. His familiar warmth hit her full-on. His smell. His weight. Everything that should have comforted her, but now felt... foreign.

"Tonight was a late night," he murmured, yawning. "If it weren't for Julian, I would have fallen asleep in my stall. That guy has boundless energy."

Camila let out a tight giggle. Oh, I know, she thought. The irony was so thick it could almost bite her.

"And Julian?" she asked, her voice feigning casualness. "Did he stay at the airport?"

"No, he told me he was going to go for a walk before heading home. You know how he is." Sometimes you need air.

Camila's heart skipped a beat. Of course, air. Like hiding in your best friend's closet to avoid being caught after kissing his girlfriend. The most ridiculous thing of all was that Julián was still there, probably with his phone on silent, maybe regretting it, or... maybe not so much.

"Are you okay?" Nico insisted, stroking her arm.

She nodded, still staring at the ceiling.

"Yes. Just... I'm tired."

"I love you, Cami."

"Me too."

But the phrase came out more muffled than she expected. Nico didn't seem to notice; he was already closing his eyes. Within seconds, his breathing became heavy, deep. Asleep.

Camila remained awake. She felt the warmth of Nico's body beside her, while inside the closet, another body waited silently. The weight of the situation crushed her. She felt like she was stuck in a dead-end situation, trapped between guilt and a strange feeling she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't just desire. It was something deeper. A curiosity. An unanswered question.

What if it hadn't been a mistake?

About ten, fifteen minutes passed. Or so she thought. When she was sure Nico was fast asleep, she moved carefully, barely lifting the sheet. She sat up, barefoot, and walked with soft steps toward the closet. Her heart was pounding, as if each beat were a wake-up call.

She opened the door slowly.

Julián was there, sitting back on his heels, sweating. The look he gave her was almost reproachful, but it also had that mischievous glint of someone who has survived an impossible situation.

"Are you crazy?" he whispered.

"A little, yes," she replied, just as softly.

They both stared at each other. The silence between them was charged with electricity. They didn't know what to say. There were so many possible words, and none seemed right.

"You need to go," she finally said. "Now."

Julián nodded, but didn't move.

"Camila... what was that?"

She looked down. She wanted an answer. A clear one, one that would put everything in order. But she didn't have one.

"I don't know," she admitted. "It was a mistake. A moment. Nothing more."

"Nothing more?"

Their eyes met again. Camila swallowed. For a moment, she saw again what she had felt minutes before. That strange fire. That awakening.

"Julián, please."

He sighed, resigned, and quietly left the closet. He stopped by the bedroom door, turning the knob with the precision of a professional thief.

"I won't say anything. Never. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

"But I won't forget it."

Camila closed her eyes as she heard him. She said nothing. She couldn't. She only heard him disappear down the hallway, and then the soft click of her bedroom door closing gently. She was left alone, with Nico asleep beside her, and with a heart that couldn't find its place.

She went back to bed, but sleep didn't return.

She had crossed a line, and although everyone believed she was still where she always was, something in her had already changed. Something that couldn't be undone.

And in the darkness, with the fan spinning again in its monotonous nighttime song, Camila felt that what had started as a mistake was shaping up to be a new beginning... or a storm.

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.