Donovan flopped onto his and Tyler's bed, the organization of his textbooks and notes finally complete. Tyler had texted that he'd be home late—some meeting for an upcoming group project had turned into dinner with classmates—leaving Donovan with a rare evening alone in the apartment. The silence felt strange after the constant bustle of Barcelona, where even at night the streets hummed with life.

  His phone vibrated on the nightstand. Alejandro.

  The familiar flutter returned to his stomach as he opened the message.

  Alejandro: First day of classes tomorrow. The university feels empty without a certain American stealing everyone's attention...

  Donovan smiled, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he replied.

  Donovan: Same here. Starting soon too. What classes are you taking this semester?

  Alejandro: Final year is no joke. Advanced Structural Design, Architectural Theory, Urban Planning Studio, and a Sustainable Design seminar. Plus my final thesis project that will consume my life for the next 8 months.

  Donovan: Sounds intense. What's the thesis about?

  Alejandro: Sustainable urban renewal using local materials and preserving historical elements. Basically, how to make old buildings new again without losing their soul. My advisor is a nightmare though. Dr. Ferrer is brilliant but terrifying.

  Donovan: I'm sure he'll love whatever you design. You're too talented to fail.

  Alejandro: Such faith in me ?? What about you? What exciting communications classes await the brilliant Donovan?

  Donovan felt a warmth spread through his chest at the compliment, even as a pang of guilt followed.

  Donovan: PR Management and Campaigns (the one I'm most excited for), Media Ethics (the dreaded CAPS course), Digital Content Promotion, and I'm continuing with Spanish so I don't forget everything

  Alejandro: Your Spanish was perfect when you left...

  Donovan: We both know my Spanish still needs work. Though I had an excellent teacher...

  Alejandro: I miss being your teacher. Among other things.

  The message lingered in the air between them, loaded with meaning. Donovan swallowed hard, his heart racing.

  Donovan: I miss that too. A lot.

  There was a brief pause, and then:

  Alejandro: Show me where you are? I want to see your face.

  Donovan hesitated for just a moment, then held his phone up, angling it to capture his face against the backdrop of his bedroom. He snapped the photo and sent it before he could overthink it.

  Donovan: Home sweet home. Not as glamorous as Barcelona.

  A minute later, Alejandro's selfie appeared. His dark hair was slightly longer than when Donovan had left, falling across his forehead in a way that made Donovan's fingers itch to brush it back. He was sitting on his couch, the familiar apartment visible behind him—the same space where they'd spent so many nights together.

  Alejandro: You look just as handsome as I remember. Maybe even more so.

  Donovan's cheeks warmed.

  Donovan: Says the most gorgeous man in Barcelona. The longer hair suits you.

  Alejandro: Glad you approve. I can't bring myself to cut it when you once said you liked it this way.

  Donovan remembered the moment—lying in bed, his fingers tangled in Alejandro's hair as moonlight streamed through the window.

  Donovan: I recognize that couch. And that apartment. I miss that place.

  Alejandro: The apartment misses you too. Especially the bedroom.

  The boldness of the statement sent a thrill through Donovan. He glanced at the door, irrationally checking that he was still alone, before replying.

  Donovan: That's a dangerous line of conversation...

  Alejandro: Sorry. Too much?

  Donovan: No. Not enough, really. Just... complicated.

  Alejandro: I know. I'm trying to be good.

  Donovan: You don't have to be THAT good...

  Alejandro: Now who's being dangerous? ?? Tell me more about your classes. What are you looking forward to most?

  Donovan appreciated the change of subject, even as part of him wanted to continue down the more dangerous path.

  Donovan: The PR campaigns course is taught by someone who worked for years at this major agency in Seattle. We'll be working with real clients on actual campaigns. It's the most practical experience before graduation.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Alejandro: That sounds perfect for you. You're going to blow them away.

  Donovan: What about you? Any classes you're actually excited about under all that pressure?

  Alejandro: The Urban Planning Studio, definitely. We're working with the city on revitalizing an old industrial district near the port. Real projects that might actually happen. And my friend Martín is in that class—remember I mentioned him? The one who always brings pastries to study sessions.

  Donovan: The one with the uncle who owns the bakery? I remember you talking about him. Your apartment always smelled like cinnamon after he visited.

  Alejandro: That's him. He's already talking about bringing treats to our first studio session. Some things never change.

  Alejandro: Elena is in my Sustainable Design class too. She asked about you.

  Donovan smiled, remembering Alejandro's friend from the art school—a whirlwind of energy with ever-changing hair colors who had joined them for drinks several times.

  Donovan: Tell her I said hi. Is her hair still blue?

  Alejandro: Pink now. With silver streaks. She says it's ‘mermaid chic'

  Donovan: That sounds about right for Elena.

  Alejandro: She said to tell you that you still owe her a dance. Apparently you promised at La Mercè that night.

  The memory of the festival flooded back—the colors, the music, dancing in the streets with Alejandro and his friends as the city celebrated around them. It had been one of the best nights of the summer.

  Donovan: Rain check until I return to Barcelona, I guess.

  As soon as he sent it, Donovan regretted the implication. Return to Barcelona? Was that something he was planning? Something that was even possible?

  Alejandro: I'll hold you to that. Both of you.

  There was a pause, then:

  Alejandro: Do you think about it? Coming back, I mean.

  The question hung between them, heavy with possibility. Donovan stared at the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. This was territory they hadn't ventured into during their previous conversations.

  Donovan: Sometimes. More than I probably should.

  Alejandro: You'd always have a place to stay if you did.

  Donovan: Just a place to stay?

  Alejandro: Whatever you wanted, Donovan. You know that.

  The sincerity in the message made Donovan's chest ache with longing and confusion.

  Donovan: I miss you. More than I can really say in a text.

  Alejandro: I miss you too. Every day.

  Donovan took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He needed to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

  Donovan: So what's this thesis project that's going to consume your life? Tell me more.

  Alejandro: It's terrifying, honestly. A full architectural proposal, from concept to detailed plans. Mine focuses on converting an old factory into a community arts center while preserving its historical features. If I fail this, I don't graduate.

  Donovan: You won't fail. You're the most talented person I know.

  Alejandro: You're biased. But I appreciate the vote of confidence. I'm going to need it.

  Donovan: What about your classmates? Anyone else you're happy to see again this year?

  Alejandro: Besides Martín and Elena? Not really. Though I suppose I'm not dreading seeing Rafael again. He's annoying but brilliant—good to have in group projects. And there's a new professor for Architectural Theory who everyone says is amazing. Dr. Navarro—she designed that museum in Madrid I showed you pictures of.

  Donovan: The one with the floating staircase? That's incredible!

  Alejandro: That's the one. I'm nervous and excited to learn from her. First impression: she's as intimidating as everyone says.

  Donovan: Just use those charm powers of yours. No one can resist them for long.

  Alejandro: Is that what happened with you? My irresistible charm?

  Donovan smiled, memories of their first meetings flooding back—Alejandro's confidence, his easy smile, the way he'd made Barcelona feel like home almost immediately.

  Donovan: That and other things...

  Alejandro: Care to elaborate?

  Donovan: Your eyes. Your laugh. The way you knew exactly what to say to make me feel like I belonged. The way Barcelona seemed to come alive when you showed it to me.

  He paused, then added:

  Donovan: But mostly your butt in those jeans.

  Alejandro: And here I thought it was my intellectual prowess! ??

  Donovan: That too. The whole package, really.

  Alejandro: You're making me blush, Donovan.

  Donovan: Good. Payback for all the times you made me blush.

  Alejandro: Send me another picture? I want to see you blushing now.

  Donovan hesitated, then raised his phone and captured another selfie, this one closer, showing just his face with a slight, self-conscious smile.

  Donovan: Happy?

  Alejandro: Very. You're so beautiful.

  He responded with his own selfie, a close-up that showed his dark eyes crinkled at the corners, his smile softer, more intimate.

  Donovan: I should probably get some sleep. Early class tomorrow.

  Alejandro: Me too. But I'm glad we talked.

  Donovan: Send me a text after your first day? I want to hear how the terrifying Dr. Ferrer responds to your thesis proposal.

  Alejandro: Only if you tell me how your PR class goes.

  Donovan: Deal.

  Alejandro: Sweet dreams, Donovan.

  Donovan: Sweet dreams, Alejandro.

  Donovan set his phone down, his heart full and heavy at the same time. The conversation had left him feeling both closer to Alejandro and more aware of the distance between them—not just the physical ocean, but the complications of his life here, with Tyler.

  As if summoned by the thought, he heard the apartment door open. Tyler was home. Donovan quickly closed his messaging app and stood up, pushing thoughts of Alejandro to the back of his mind as he went to greet his boyfriend.

  But even as he smiled and asked Tyler about his evening, he could feel the weight of his phone in his pocket, carrying messages from across the ocean—messages that threatened to pull him back to Barcelona, back to Alejandro, even as his feet remained firmly planted in Pullman.