You sighed quietly pinching the bridge of your nose with your forefinger and thumb at the sight before you: Three giggling girls gushing over your Spanish boyfriend who seemed oblivious to the fact that they were flirting. The girls were getting too touchy on the Spaniard, rubbing his arm, twirling a chocolate lock, pressing up closer to his chest and such. Antonio didn’t seem to mind, in fact he was joking along with them seemingly enjoying the conversation. You watched from a distance just right across the lockers, waiting for your brunette Spaniard to sense your existence which he hasn’t noticed for a while.
An all-too-familiar feeling washed over you as it always has when Antonio densely socializes with his fangirls. You weren’t surprised though he was Spanish perfection with a big heart—too big. It would be unnatural if no girl was attracted to him. You pressed your white-bloused back against the cold metal lockers with crossed arms gazing at Antonio exasperatedly through your calm façade. You were going to invite him to lunch at the World Academy’s rooftop, the same place you met and the same place he confessed his “undying” love for you. You doubted that at the moment. After what seemed like a century, you gave up; he never spared a glance towards you, his girlfriend of one and a half year.
“(Name), mi amor!”
You stopped dead in your tracks at the Spanish- accented call before trying to erase the irritated look that marred your beauty then replacing it with an innocent one. Turning around you gave a small smile, resisting the urge to glare back at the flirtatious girls. The Spanish brunette gave you his perfect smile with bright flecks flickering over his emerald eyes, the same that always sent you into a daze and the very one which unconsciously caused you mirror his grin--this time you didn’t grin back.
“Why didn’t you come? I was waiting for you querida.”
Beckoning you with a tanned finger to come closer you shook your head then replied quietly yet loud enough for him to hear, “I have class, I don’t wanna be late.” You giggled uneasily before giving a small wave and turning your back towards him and the relieved female students who resumed their nasty flirting.
“Eh? But your first class starts in 20 minutes!” Antonio called out and you pretended not to hear. You took deep agitated breaths while hoping that the brunette tomato-lover would catch up with you. You felt hot tears sting your (color) eyes when you glanced back, and even through the river students blocking your view, you could see your Antonio shrug before drowning himself once more into a cheery conversation with those girls.
You buried your head into your arms agonizingly once you arrived first in the empty classroom (which you were grateful of). A hot, salty tear slid down your cheek but effectively stopping the next wave that was bound to follow. How long did you just stand there with your inner battle against jealousy? During the whole relationship! Why can’t he understand the difference between friendly gestures and flirting? Why can’t he get the obvious hints that you were jealous? Does he find those girls more interesting that you? Sure he can, but even though you may not be the type to overload your face with pounds of makeup, or burden yourself with sparkling silver jewels… he told you “You are better off without them mi chica. You. Are. Beautiful. But that’s not why I love you—I love you for you and no hermosa or power can change that. Si?”
Was he lying? He couldn’t. You knew he loved you dearly, you felt it. He never forced you to do anything for his pleasure. He always took every chance to hold you. He’d daily tell you “I love you” in his native tongue. You sighed under the safe haven of your arms as the tear dried, he loves you. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo loves you and you him. That was your only assurance that can you keep going:
Your love for your oblivious, Spanish, idiot.