Gemotions

The old record player spun, filling the room with the melancholic strains of a tango. Outside, the city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window. Mateo, my partner, was humming along, his voice a low rumble.

He started speaking to me in Spanish. He spoke about his day, and the plans we'd made for the coming years. His accent was still clumsy, but the effort was clear.

A warmth blossomed in my chest. I felt a need to touch him, to be close. I got up, walked over to him, and rested my head on his shoulder. I took his hand. The music swelled, and the world seemed to fade away.