He knows better. He knows that Alejandro hired him because he wants company for some fucking reason even if he has no plans to interact with him ever at all. He knows that if Alejandro were to fall in love, it would be with someone who had his shit together and some idea about what the fuck he wanted to do besides learn dead languages and spend six months in the Minoan ruins staring a bits and pieces of a culture that will probably never be entirely understood in his lifetime.
And yet, here he is, sitting at the table like a moron talking about Chad the Choad in his History of Islam lecture like Alejandro Santos gives a single, actual fuck.
“Another scotch?”
The server comes out of nowhere, making Avery jump in his seat, and he lets out a sigh of relief when Alejandro shakes his head. He’s had two, which is good for him. It means that his day wasn’t total shit, and not that it makes a difference on their date, but being in love with this man means he’s forced to care about him.
“You can bring the bill,” Alejandro says after a beat. “Also please pay my compliments to the chef. The halibut was incredibly delicious tonight.”
Avery tries not to choke on the bitter words lodged in his throat because why the fuck does this server get two full sentences when he hasn’t gotten a single word in months. Not a goddamn one. He brushes his thumb over the face of his new watch, and he stares down at the way the flame from the little candle reflects in the glass.
He can’t help but think of his own anniversary gift that’s still sitting on the table, and how pathetic it seems in return for this. The man who runs the shop at the craft market is about Alejandro’s age, but with about a hundred more years of life etched on his face. He’s mostly blind and carves by touch—or so he told Avery. He was born on Oahu but moved to the mainland when he was twenty with big dreams and no money.
“But this feels like home now,” he’d said as he was packing up the orca. “I hope the person you give this to understands the love you put with it.”
Avery said nothing to him because he knows that Alejandro won’t care, even if he did. The gift is still sitting on the edge of the table in the stupid wrapping paper with the stupid little ribbon he tied. He’s given Alejandro exactly four gifts in the year they’ve been doing this whole thing. All of them were handmade—by other people because he cannot craft—but they were cheap, and they all meant something because they made him think about Alejandro at the time.
And he thinks they’re probably sitting at the bottom of a landfill—or at the very best maybe at the bottom of some sock drawer in one of Alejandro’s many closets. Avery’s never seen his place, but he imagines it’s bigger on the inside with more storage space than one man should rightfully have, and filled from corner to corner with so many things that are nothing like the man sitting across from him.
It was why he chose the orca. It was why he chose the paperweight with the flower inside. And the hand-knitted mittens when it was cold last year, and he noticed Alejandro was wearing leather which made him sad thinking about all those baby cows. And the thought that these things just fall into some void kills him a little bit. But it’s no less than he’s used to.
Tonight, he’ll go home with his ears ringing from Alejandro’s pressing silence, a watch on his wrist, a pocket full of cash, and a scheduled date on his timetable. This is what he tacitly agreed to when he signed the damn contract, so anniversary or no, he holds his tongue because he’s not being paid to complain.
He’s being paid to show up, and to keep Alejandro company—however he feels it’s necessary.
“We should do pizza next time,” he says as he follows Alejandro through the restaurant to the valet stand. He shoves his hands into his pockets because the weather’s getting a little cold as November creeps into December. He has a flight to New York to visit his mom and dad after the New Year, but he’s not really sure he’ll make it with the weather forecasting the entire north east to be buried in