tonibeltran

[tonibeltran]

STATUS: closed for @rachelxhan LOCATION: o'malley's irish pub

It’s been a minute, since he’s last seen Rachel around. After their last text chain a couple of weeks back, it almost feels like the other’s been avoiding Toni — which would make sense, had he done something to maybe offend her. But he can’t for the life of him pick out a single instance where that may have been the case, so he has to imagine there’s maybe something wrong, and the burden’s clearly on him to figure out what that is.

He’s been expecting a text back for a couple of days now, but as luck would have it, he spots Rachel across the room at O’Malley’s — so maybe he doesn’t have to wait too long, after all. Grabbing his whiskey from the bar, he offers Clementine a tight smile as he slips out of his stool and makes his way over to Rachel, slipping into the seat across from her with an easy smile. “Almost called in a wellness check for you,” he jokes, though there’s a hint of concern lining his tone. “Haven’t heard from you in a minute.” A hesitant pause. “Are we okay?”

[tonibeltran]

STATUS: closed for @izuluzakwe LOCATION: toni's dining room

Antonio’s been staring at this one donor for longer than he should have been by now, probably. But the man — or at least the man as a child — has such an interesting face, in a way that’s not bad, but it’s not — good, either. His interests include rock climbing and crocheting, which feels like a bullshit combination to Antonio, and it’s what finally makes him throw the folder into the ‘no’ pile. “Some of these can’t be real, can they?” He turns to Izzy as he grabs for his now-third glass of wine, expression contorted into something like disbelief. 

“You expect me to believe that—” he grabs randomly at one of the folders from the ‘maybe’ pile and quickly scours through the hobbies section. “This ‘celebrated piano virtuoso’ with an IQ of 150 who ‘regularly exercises’ and ‘composes symphonies in his head while skydiving’ also has a thriving Etsy shop for hand-carved soap sculptures and ‘casually dabbles in falconry and experimental beekeeping’ in his spare time?” 

He pauses, staring at the page for a beat, before looking back up at Izzy. “What the fuck does that even mean, experimental beekeeping? Is he training the bees to do their taxes?” Antonio closes the folder and sets it back down carelessly, shaking his head in incredulous disdain. “I swear to God, Izzy, the next one’s gonna tell me they won a Nobel Prize for inventing an app that teaches dolphins how to knit.” He snatches up another folder as he takes a drink of his wine, muttering, “This isn’t like online dating at all, Izulu, it’s somehow worse. How do you even root out the frauds?” 

[tonibeltran]

He’s sure artists would kill to capture the essence of a blushing Roman, Antonio thinks. There’s something about the simplicity of it — something so human, juxtaposed against one of the most otherworldly human beings he’s ever known. He’s sure there’s something to it. Someone far more talented than him — or at least someone with less personal stake in the matter — would do a better job at describing it, he’s sure. He can’t help the wide, almost pathetic grin that breaks through his expression at Roman’s agreement — mine, he says, and something in Antonio preens at the word. Pathetic is the right word, truly, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Roman’s kiss is far too quick for Toni’s liking, so he’s pulled back in by his shirt for another slower, deeper one. I only want you, he’d said, and Antonio hopes he can pour that same emotion into however long he can keep this kiss up — make Roman understand that it’s the same for him. That it’ll always be the same for him. He thinks he may have been kissing his — boyfriend — for maybe two, three minutes tops before the doorbell rings, cutting through his reverie.

“Fuck,” he mutters, sighing. “Okay, fine, I’ll turn the porch light off,” he promises, scrambling off the couch and toward the kitchen. He grabs the entirety of the candy bowl and whatever’s left in there and opens the door, pouring the rest of the candy into the kids’ bags. “Happy halloween!” He exclaims to several awestruck children, before closing the door behind him and turning the porch light off. Tossing the plastic candy bowl somewhere over the kitchen counter, he makes his way back to Roman on the couch, almost immediately pressing his lips to the other man’s again. “I’m all yours now,” he promises against his lips, then grins. “All yours always.”

> END OF THREAD.

Roman doesn’t know what he did to deserve this man. Perhaps it’s some sort of karmic repayment from the universe — sorry we fucked up your right hand to almost-beyond repair, but your former bandmate is even more attractive now, and understanding of you exploring your sexuality and wanting to be with him at a glacial pace, here you go — and he’s had too many near misses in his life to look a gift horse in the mouth with a scowl. “I like being with you.” It’s only a small snippet of what he actually wants to say, to confess, but it’s way too early.

A soft sigh leaves him as Toni combs through his hair, frowning more bemused than anything at the other man’s accompanying scoff. His heart squeezes as Toni questions the descriptor he gave them. It’s not an ideal term to Roman either, and he wants to say something to defend the poor choice of phrasing, but pauses as Antonio drops his gaze, seemingly focused on tearing off the already-loose button on his shirt. The shop owner attempts to keep his breathing even, wondering if he’s somehow fucked up before they could really begin. A month simply hadn’t been long enough…

“We’re not.” He confirms when Toni dares meet his eyes again and states the obvious at the two not seeing other people, and he can feel a flush creep onto his cheek as the word ‘boyfriend’ slips almost effortlessly from the guitarist’s lips. He’s right, it is a little juvenile, but he doesn’t care. He feels twenty years younger when wrapped in his arms anyway, and he offers Toni a rare crooked Roman Daniels smile. “Darling, in my head I’ve been calling you mine for weeks. My…something. I think boyfriend works, until we can both think of something better.” He leans down, planting a chaste kiss on Toni’s lips. “I want a relationship with you, Toni. I only want you.”

[tonibeltran]

ANTONIO: You know I’m a big fan of someone else cooking for me. ANTONIO: Where are you thinking?

✉️ — Beltran, Antonio.

ROMAN: What do you think about going out for dinner?

@tonibeltran

[tonibeltran]

ANTONIO: I certainly didn't. Remember when he tried dancing on The Bachelor? The secondhand embarrassment was enough for me to shut the whole season off. ANTONIO: They would HAVE to assume I'm obsessed with a man named Joey and begging for his attention. ANTONIO: Oh, Rachel, be real right now. No one actually votes based on the DANCING. At this point in the competition you're voting for your favorites whether they do well or not. ANTONIO: I have a simple life. Not that I'm complaining, but it does give me pause to know I have this much time on my hands, you know?

RACHEL: Okay but he can DANCE he's got star quality who knew?! RACHEL: I feel like I want someone to see your phone and wonder what in the world is happening if they don't have the context. RACHEL: I still stand by the fact it's not fair that you get 10 votes like what if the people cast them before they see a really good dance at the end? RACHEL: you have a life what do you mean?!

[tonibeltran]

ANTONIO: I have. Great show. Very heartwarming. ANTONIO: Oh, sure. Sounds fun. ANTONIO: Been a while since I've seen the kid, anyway. ANTONIO: Nah, demonic content tends to just find me. I don't actively go looking for it.

LEA: Con razón es que tu estas tan positivo todo el tiempo LEA: Esí es bueno vivir. De veras LEA: Of course, I'll add it onto the list 😁 LEA: I do love a good game of futbol. Have you watched it already? LEA: Should we watch it to LEA: I know Daniel might like it too, we can grab some beers and binge it one of these days? LEA: I was beginning to think you only know demonic content jajaja

[tonibeltran]

Antonio raises an eyebrow at Phoebe’s initial outburst, a small smirk forming as he leans his forearms on the counter, his posture easy. “Never took you for someone who makes assumptions,” he teases lightly, though there’s no bite in his tone. He waves off her apology with a chuckle, letting her awkward laugh fade into the quiet hum of the store. “Nah, I get it. Austen and Plath for the girls, Orwell and Salinger for the boys — it’s the kind of thinking that still makes me lie to people about my favorite book,” he confesses, nodding seriously. “Anyone else asks, they usually get The Great Gatsby. God forbid they know I’m a romantic,” he holds a hand up to his heart dramatically, eyes widening in mock-scandal. “I’d never live it down.” 

Her question gives him pause, though, and his expression softens as he considers his answer. “Good question,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “The story is fantastic, obviously, but I think what draws me back again and again are the characters.” A pause. “Maybe it’s just that Austen doesn’t try to excuse their flaws, you know?” He meets Phoebe’s gaze with a small grin. “They exist. They’re a part of them. It’s never so black and white with her. Like a lesson on loving people for their complexities, not despite them.” He shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of sincerity in his eyes. “And, yeah, it is the blueprint, isn’t it? All the best love stories have a little bit of Austen in their DNA.”

At her reaction to the cost of a first edition, Antonio laughs outright, shaking his head. “I know, right? Ridiculous. That’s why it’s still just a daydream for now.” He leans back slightly, glancing around the store as Phoebe talks about her job. The idea of staying here, even after achieving whatever her dreams may be, makes him smile. There’s something grounding about it, something he doesn’t quite have himself. “I don’t blame you for wanting to stay. This place seems like it’d be good for a writer — surrounded by stories, little moments of inspiration on every shelf. Seems like it suits you.”

He pauses for a beat, tilting his head slightly. “So, what is it you want to happen, exactly? If you don’t mind me asking.” His tone is casual, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his voice, his interest in her ambitions clear.

Phoebe had always scoffed at the idea of frivolous spending, always declaring that the value of money was wasted on those who never had to stretch to make ends meet. That the idea of these super mansions celebrities paraded around in on MTV Cribs or the amount of overconsumption on her TikTok feed made Phoebe's eyes roll with contempt, glad that she had some financial sense. But when Antonio mentioned his Pride and Prejudice collection, she felt a flare of jealousy only ever reserved to when she bumped into the women of Foster's past.

"I'd never take you for a P&P guy," She blurts out, "Sorry! That's so presumptous! Um, I just mean, I guess I just grew up being told Austen and Plath were for girls, Orwell and Sallinger were for the boys. Obviously not a healthy mindset to have in this day and age!" The clerk couldn't help but laugh awkwardly. "Um, but what is it about it? The themes? The fact it's the basis of the modern love story? I just...never really heard a man's opinion on it." She had tried to get Seb to read it before — her beat up copy stolen from the Blue Harbor High library — but he hadn't expressed much interest. And sadly never got to that point with Foster, who she had seen only read memoirs by different chefs.

"Two hundred grand is...wow. Yeah." To Phoebe that was life-changing money, that was at least the price of a small house in a less-than-decent neighborhood. "But yeah, this place is great. It's quiet, and the owner is nice, and I get discounts on whatever books I want! And I'm allowed to choose the displays." Though she hadn't really had a chance to express her creative vision in that regard yet, jumping straight from Halloween to the holidays. "I think, even if like...all I want to happen happens, I might stay here. Why not?" It got her out of the apartment, after all.

[tonibeltran]

Antonio snorts softly at Nathan’s quip about Linda’s husband, shaking his head with an amused grin. “God, but could you imagine being married to Linda? Don’t think you’d be able to find peace in your own house.” He casts a glance across the street, watching Linda gesticulating wildly at the workers, and feels a twinge of sympathy — for them, not her. He might be able to extend some sympathy toward her, if she weren’t such a raging, racist, ridiculous bitch. Though he’s sure not to voice those opinions out loud anywhere near Roman, mind you — he’d have a field day, knowing there’s someone on this earth Antonio can’t muster up a single kind word about.

As Nathan lights his cigarette, Antonio leans casually against the mailbox, crossing his arms. The faint curl of smoke drifts between them, and he shrugs at the question. “Before this? Texas, originally,” he says, skipping over the first five years of his life in Mexico, because he doubts Nathan’s intention was to get a full lore drop. “Then I lived at the uni for a couple years here when I turned eighteen. But the last place I lived was in LA,” he makes a face, as though the mere initials of such a large, unforgiving city are enough to sour the taste of his tongue. The only good memories he has of LA are whatever he’d managed to make living with Roman and Kaya, but other than that, he holds that city with the same contempt one would a scorned lover. “And now I’m here.” He skips over the five years in between, as well, because he’s not a fucking radio soap. “In Oak Gardens.”

He glances at Nathan with a raised eyebrow as he trails off, gesturing vaguely to the neighborhood. “I’m not exactly the target demographic here,” he points out. “But the house was an impulse buy.” As was the move. His last-ditch effort not to kill himself, which worked out in his favor, he guesses. He hadn’t killed himself. Moreover, hasn’t wanted to in a hot minute. Did gain a gnarly alcohol addiction, though, which’ll be fun to unpack when he gets to it. Eventually.

Antonio’s gaze shifts back to Nathan, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What about you? Can’t imagine you woke up one day and thought, ‘You know what I need? A picket fence and a clipboard brigade breathing down my neck.’” He raises an eyebrow, leaning into the familiar rhythm of their banter. “What brought you to the land of gourd quotas and scarecrow fascism?”

“Hm. Perhaps if her husband wasn't so busy browsing for newer models she'd have less time to bother the rest of us.” It doesn't matter that two thirds of his life have been spent steeped in luxury and privilege, the ghost of a youthful Nathan rises up defiant and resentful all the same. A smirk creeps onto his face, Antonio's words conjuring a satisfying image of the look on Linda's face in the aftermath of Halloween revenge. The concept of HOAs has never been anything short of bizarre to him and having a committee of control freaks policing what he does with his own property only inspires a deeply immature desire to see how far over the line he can toe. “Pity the poor sod who had to deal with her. Who on earth cared about scarecrows that much?”

It's a small blessing that his house sits between the only two neighbours that actually appear to be sane on the street. With Antonio on one side and Roman on the other he's been left in relative peace the past few months. No rousing arguments, no drama, or none that he's noticed at least. And if the two of them wander between houses on a slightly more regular basis than he'd expect, well. None of his business, is it?

Linda's grating voice inspires an eye roll and as they watch her tear a set of bat-shaped lights from a worker's hand he can't help but think of his younger brothers, both of whom would see this kind of behaviour as a challenge to cause as many problems for the woman as possible. His fingers itch to take out his phone and text them. He pushes them further into his pockets.

“I never understood the point of those groups anyway. Fascists.” He huffs, searching for a cigarette to replace the urge to reach out. Nathan considers Antonio appraisingly as he slips it between his lips and lights it. “Where did you live before, then?” It makes sense to him that he's not an Oak Gardens native, if only for the fact that the man doesn't walk around with the air of someone who has a stick rammed up their arse.

[tonibeltran]

Antonio blinks, processing the sharp pivot in their conversation as Terry nonchalantly drops their confession. A brief flicker of surprise crosses his face before he smooths it over with a small, amused grin, well-practiced in the art of keeping up with unexpected tangents. Even if they do make him feel a tad bit wrongfooted, suddenly. “Okay,” he nods slowly, as if processing the information. “Should I be congratulating you or offering condolences?” He teases lightly, though the comment is less about the subject matter and more about Terry’s blunt delivery. Antonio doesn’t mind the overshare — hell, he’s overshared plenty himself in dimly lit bars with half-strangers who became fast friends. Terry’s confidence, though — or what appears to be confidence, anyway — has a strange charm, and one he can respect. 

But the moment is fleeting. Their hand grips his sleeve, attention diverted, and Antonio follows their gaze toward the undergrowth where Terry directs him. His fingers adjust the binoculars — no, the bins (he’s trying, really) — raising them to his eyes. The flutelike whistle lingers in the air, faint but distinct, as Antonio squints to spot the movement among the shadows. For a few heartbeats, there’s nothing, and then, there it is: the varied thrush. Black markings across its breast, the orange of its body muted in the filtered light of the forest floor. Antonio exhales, almost a laugh, though it’s more in awe than amusement.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “That’s — actually kind of beautiful.” He keeps the binoculars steady, watching the bird hop along the forest floor, pecking at the ground with quick, deliberate movements. He’s never understood the fascination with birding, not really, but at this moment, he thinks he can see the appeal. A stillness settles over him as he lowers the binoculars, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Thank you for pointing it out,” he says, glancing over at Terry, his tone warm. He lets the moment sit between them for a beat, then another, then a third, then figures that’s long enough as he swivels his body entirely to face them. “I do want to circle back your previous comment, though,” he adds, unable to help the smirk that tugs at the corners of his lips. “One, was he hot, two, what don’t you remember sleeping with a man being, and three, why did you bring it up so abruptly?” He pauses, taking inventory of the curiosities in his brain, before he nods once, resolutely. “Alright, yeah, I think that was all of it.”

Antonio’s whistle prompted a small smile to break through their usual stoic features. “It is impressive, isn’t it?” Here, their cadence was transformed into something like pride. In truth, Terry couldn’t recall just how much they had shared about their interests during their and Antonio’s nocturnal excursions in the pubs of Weaver Ridge. In the absence of clarity, only the more pronounced memories remained—the most morbid of their conversations, his stories about Roman and a life on the road, their own recounting of favorite birds and knives and buildings. They recalled talking to him proudly about the favorite building they’d ever designed—how the firm had made use of earth-like materials so that, when it hit the golden hour just right, the slant of light impressed upon the structure would render it almost indistinguishable to the mountain ridges directly behind it. Architecture as a disappearing act. Through it all, of course, was Antonio’s company. Warm, solid, and grounding.

What had they said, then? Fire in the hearth.

Now that they were both sober, Terry wasn’t sure whether the compliment would hold true. So far, though, they had not felt the need to correct their opinion—for however warped their vision had become when inebriated, their mind, when set, was rarely flexible. The notion that they would hold his lack of expertise over his head was rather obtuse, though not unfounded; they could be quite a tough critic.

“I don’t think it’s sad,” they said, lifting their shoulders. “We wield completely different instruments, have different interests.” Should they have begun underscoring their differences now? In the absence of anything familiar, was it prudent to draw focus on the unfamiliar? “If I held a guitar for the first time, you wouldn’t find that sad, would you?” An attempt at an analogy, then, hoping to bridge the many gaps between their experiences. “It might be hilarious. It could even be endearing. But never sad.” 

Terry walked forward through their favored trail path—a bit more uphill, but had offered a better vantage point, especially when time came to look for birds foraging in the undergrowth. They were aware of the severity of their words, but Terry wasn’t quite casting judgment toward him. If anything, they appreciated his resolve at pushing through with the exercise. Very few ever entertained their interests, let alone pushed through with the excursion where he would have to be the one that needed to be led. That should count for something. Severine was the person most understanding of the way their mind worked, but even she had lapses in her patience.

In times like these Terry wished they could offer more than the quiet of their company. Some words of consolation, maybe. But what had Antonio said? We don’t have to talk unless you want to—and most times, Terry did not want to.

So they don’t talk. Not for a while—a whole three minutes—until a flash of blue flitted through the trees above them. Terry swatted his arm, just as they normally would under the warm lights of the pub. “Blue jay, above you, to your three o’clock.” Not the best find, and not their favorite bird, either, but a good sign overall. At once, their heart leaped. “There—another. An indigo bunting.”

However, Antonio caught their attention again and posed another question. They followed his line of sight, “Birding groups? Yes.” The din of voices carried through the forest, the thoughtfulness of the exercise uniting them. “I have several friends in the community. I join them sometimes. Although, I’m not looking to add to my life list right now. Birding groups can get fairly competitive. I’m just looking to relax right now. With you.” 

Almost as if to say, Terry wasn’t at all friendless. Just that friends, for them, emerged in the strangest of places, or when they needed them most. By that logic, Terry mused, then Antonio was no different from any friend they’d made after all. And what did friends talk about? Beyond interests, there was the matter of personal life. More stories to be shared. Far too reminiscent of stepping like glass.

“Antonio, I slept with someone,” they punctured through the silence. “Funny. I hadn’t had sex with a man in a long time. I don’t remember it being so—”

Below them, there came a series of long whistles, flutelike, but not quite melodic. Haunting. Gripping the edge of Toni’s sleeve, they pointed to the undergrowth, searching for the whiff of its telltale orange markings, its black breast. “Okay. Look through the undergrowth. A varied thrush.”

[tonibeltran]

Antonio holds Roman’s gaze steadily as he speaks — he knows this is probably hard for him, so he tries to ease his discomfort as much as possible by pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his friend’s mouth. “I don’t think that,” he assures Roman. “I get it. I get why we’re going at the pace we’re going. And even if you told me we’d never get anywhere else — I wouldn’t care,” he assures Rome softly. “I like being with you. Whatever stage we’re at.” He brings a hand to run through the other man’s hair, smiling slightly. But there’s something else that keeps tugging at his brain, a little incessantly.

“Arrangements,” he huffs out the word, tone a little teasing, but mostly just disbelieving. “Is that what we’re in? An arrangement?” His gaze is fixed on where his hands are now playing anxiously with Roman’s shirt, unable to find it in himself to look into Rome’s eyes until he knows exactly what he wants to say. The words are all in his head, of course — have been, for the entire month they’ve been doing this — but he’s having a hard time putting them in order and making them into something coherent.

Eventually, he meets Roman’s gaze again, searching. “I’m not — and you’re not — neither of us are seeing other people,” he starts unnecessarily. “And we both already know neither of us want to see other people, for that matter. And I know — the word boyfriend sounds a little juvenile, I get that.” He pauses for a beat. “But I don’t think I’d mind calling you that,” he adds slowly, feeling his cheeks pink slightly. “And I don’t think I’d mind being yours, either.” He huffs, embarrassed. “It’s been a minute since I’ve done this,” he admits. “The relationship talk. A relationship at all. But,” he licks his lips. “I want that. With you.” A pause. “Only if you do, though,” he adds quickly. “We don’t — have to. Not if this is working for you as it is.”

He can't help but huff in annoyance — putting the blame on Toni for not immediately understanding his line of questioning rather than his own reluctance to communicate about this topic properly — but even the irritation is short-lived at how fucking adorable (and it's not a word he uses lightly) the other man is, wanting to kiss away the frown and continue without clarifying, when he seems to get it, at least. Roman resists the urge to pull away, refusing to let the embarrassment consume him. He's an adult, they both are, and this is important. It had to be discussed at some point.

To Toni's credit, he helps immensely in soothing Roman's humiliation, like aloe gel on a sunburn, the kiss at his cheek having them redden for much different reasons for now. "In your old age? Your memory must be starting to fog here and there." He murmurs, though the element of teasing is lost to the desperation coating his words.

He gazes up at the other man, and despite being tangled up in each other's limbs, from a distance it's all fairly innocuous, but there's a tension between the two that's anything but, just bubbling there beneath the surface. Roman Daniels has never felt more vulnerable in his life, and for the first time in forty-one years, isn't frightened of it. "I like the pace we're going." He assures, because any slower would drive him mad, even though it's completely up to him to set the speed. "I just...I'm aware that in most..." Relationships is the apt word, but because they never discussed it, he doesn't know if he's allowed to say it, "Arrangements, especially between adults of our age, things have just developed more, is all. I don't want you to think I'm holding out on you." Fucking hell, it's amazing he's able to keep eye contact saying that, not melting into a puddle of shame. "I just...I know it's not a race, I know we're not to compare to others. I just want you to know that I want to be at that stage, one day."

[tonibeltran]

Antonio leans back against the counter, his posture relaxing as Dahlia's curiosity takes center stage. There’s something grounding about it — about her excitement, her genuine interest. It’s easier to focus on that than on the echoes of the past that had briefly pulled him under. He lets out a soft chuckle, tilting his head as he considers her question with a low hum.

“Magical. Hm. Yeah, I think that’s a fair word for it,” he says, a hint of nostalgia threading through his voice. “It’s got this — energy to it, you know? Like the city’s alive in a way that’s hard to describe until you’re there.” His lips twitch slightly at the memories, conveniently blurring the man who’d explored the city beside him for an entire night. “Canals lit up at night, little cafes on every corner, the kind of vibe that makes you want to stay up and see what happens next.”

He pauses, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For me, Amsterdam was — complicated,” he admits slowly, though he doesn’t elaborate further. “I think it’s one of those places that gives you back what you bring to it. You’ve got an open heart, a sense of adventure?” He gestures loosely, as if casting a spell. “The place’ll feel like magic. But if you’re carrying too much weight on your shoulders, it’ll remind you of that too.” Antonio’s eyes flicker back to hers, the soft spark of her curiosity disarming in its sincerity. “You should go someday. I mean it. I bet you’d find all kinds of inspiration there.”

There’s a beat before he adds, more lightly, “And hey, maybe by the time you go, I’ll have some tips for you on the best places to eat or whatever. Save you the trouble of tourist traps.” The smile he offers is easy now, free of the weight that had briefly settled over him, as if her excitement alone had been enough to pull him out of his head. 

Dahlia’s fingers pause as they fidgeted with the edge of her flannel, Antonio’s reassurances making her hesitate. His warmth and understanding felt a bit sudden, but resulted in her heart tightening in a way that was both comforting and a little painful. Most of her tattoos were incredibly personal, but her Amethyst tattoo was among the most significant. His words settled over her, and she returned his smile, her head tilting to glance at her shoulder where the tattoo lay hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt. 

“It’s special,” Dahlia began, glancing at Toni hesitantly before continuing her explanation. “When I heard it for the first time, it was like someone pulled out words from my heart that I’d never been able to vocalize. Like someone out there understood something I hadn’t even wrapped my brain around.” Dahlia laughed a little, feeling embarrassed by the intensity of her own words, but if there was anyone who would understand it’d be Antonio. He’d helped create those words, after all. 

Antonio’s smile grew more genuine, and the tension between them gradually eased. She exhaled, feeling her shoulders relax as the topic of conversation shifted ever so slightly. “Amsterdam? God, I wish. I’ve never been out of the country.” Dahlia’s eyes lit up at the thought, curiosity sparking in her eyes and overtaking her initial shyness. “It’s on my bucket list, though. I’ve always wanted to go.” She hesitated, debating asking a question before it tumbled out of her. “What was it like for you? Is it as magical as I’ve imagined or am I overhyping it?”

Dahlia hoped she wasn’t overstepping with the question, but she genuinely wanted to know. She’d gotten to learn a lot about Toni as a musician, but she was just as curious about him as a person.

[tonibeltran]

Antonio looks at Emir with a mock scandalous expression. “You don’t TikTok?” He tuts, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Sorry, how else do you keep up with The Youths?” In all honesty, Antonio uses his TikTok mostly to chortle at stupid humor — less to keep up with whatever twenty-somethings and below are doing. Sometimes he’ll have to close it abruptly, when he finds something his fingers almost automatically want to send to Elijah. Before all the bullshit between them, he’d been Toni’s best friend — he’d send that man countless of stupid shit that suited both their humor, and now he has to resist the urge to think about him at all when he comes across a TikTok video he’s sure would make Elijah cackle.

He’s broken out of that stupor as Emir holds open his front door, and he makes his way inside gratefully. “Tea sounds nice,” he agrees, because it does — though he’s gotten used to the British way of making tea by now, what with his London native, ah, romantic entanglement, and all, so he thinks he may have to drink it more out of politeness than actual want. Looking around, he whistles, impressed. “I always forget your place is ten times the size of mine,” he grins lazily back at Emir. “How do you not lose Emi every ten minutes?”

"I got you." Emir nodded his head, chuckling lightly. Emira would get her way every single time. Who could say no to her sweet face? Even he had a hard time doing it. And the little girl knew it, too. She used it to her advantage all the time. Being an only child, she knew that her father would cave in to make her happy. "I do have very interesting things to say! Thank you, Toni. Dad doesn't know because he's not hip to things like us. You know he don't even Tik Tok?" the tween pointed out, as if it was the ungodliest thing!

"Don't you have homework to do or something?" he glanced at his daughter, mostly teasing as he never had to worry or be on top of her when it came to school work. Although the man always took time to sit down with her and help her if she needed. Being a father suited him well. Emir led the other into the house, holding the door open for him and his daughter to head in first. "Do you want something to drink? I was about to have some tea. Would you like to join me for some?"

[tonibeltran]

Date idea: You simply spend the rest of your life with me.

[tonibeltran]

[ OUTGOING SMS 📲 RACHEL HAN 🍊 ]

ANTONIO: If Joey goes home tonight, we're throwing a pity party. ANTONIO: Side note, is it pathetic for a forty-one-year-old man to be texting "JOEY" so much every week? ANTONIO: Maybe I need a life. @rachelxhan

[tonibeltran]

ANTONIO: Será que no me ha fallado hasta ahora? ANTONIO: Pues que más te llamo cuando te portas tan dramático, amigo? ;) ANTONIO: Yet more to discuss the next time we see each other, yes? ANTONIO: It is the plot of a show, yes. Ted Lasso. No demons, no vampires. You might enjoy it.

LEA: Tu ‘ta como que muy creyente en la manifestación. LEA: Y entonces, por encima me llamas dramático! No, no, no pero no se puede contigo. LEA: E’to ta fuerte, Antonio. LEA: Jajajaja por favor LEA: As is most of the scripture as well. We are only humans after all. LEA: I'm not sure that I follow LEA: Is that the plot of a new show?

[tonibeltran]

ANTONIO: Todo se puede creer si uno se lo propone, no? ANTONIO: No seas dramatico! Una lloradera puede ser catartica. ANTONIO: You're sweet. Thanks for that. It's a lie, the guy still sounds like a dick, but thanks for that. ANTONIO: Sounds like she was misunderstood to me. ANTONIO: How do you feel about European football and an American football coach with a dream?

LEA: Eso ni tú te lo crees Antonio jajaja

LEA: Lo único? 👀

LEA: No se porque me quieres poner a llorar. Nunca te e hecho nada malo. Me estás hiriendo los sentimientos.

LEA: He has

LEA: jajaj no hables de mi hamistad así

LEA: Es muy buena gente, y no lo merece

LEA: […]

LEA: Lilith was not a demon in that sense no

LEA: but she is vilanized for not submitting to Adam which led to Eve’s creation

LEA: According to Jewish scriptures of course

LEA: I’m not watching either then it seems

[tonibeltran]

JONATHAN BAILEY and MATT BOMER in Fellow Travelers: episode 2