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The theater was almost empty—three people in the back, an older couple in the middle, and the two of them in a row near the screen because they’d arrived just as the trailers were starting. Sariel chose the seats. She put a finger on Adrián’s arm to indicate which one was his. The contact lasted three full seconds, and Adrián sat down with the exact feeling that she’d done it on purpose.
The movie was a romantic comedy neither of them had chosen. They’d picked it because it was the only showing available. Adrián couldn’t, afterward, remember the title.
He did remember other things, though.
He remembered that Sariel laughed with a gut-level, surprised laugh at the twenty-minute mark, when the protagonist tripped over a lamp.
He remembered that at thirty-eight minutes, she leaned her shoulder against his and didn’t pull away.
He remembered that at forty-five minutes, their fingers brushed on the armrest, and neither moved them.
He remembered that at sixty minutes, she took his hand with a small, deliberate decisiveness, interlacing her fingers with his, and turned her face toward the screen like nothing had happened.
He remembered that for the next thirty minutes, he didn’t see a single frame of the movie.
When they stepped out onto the street, it was already 10:30.
"We missed the investigation window," said Adrián.
Sariel stopped on the sidewalk. Looked at the street. Looked at the sky, where there was no moon because it was a new moon.
"We have until eleven," she said. "The time range was nine to eleven. We still have some wiggle room."
"Okay."
"Okay."
Neither of them moved.
They were standing on the sidewalk of a closed movie theater, on an empty street, facing each other, their hands still intertwined from inside the theater, and the city was completely silent around them.
Sariel took half a step forward.
Adrián took half a step forward.
And this time, the bracelet on Adrián’s wrist heated up. But he either didn’t notice, or didn’t care, or decided to ignore it—he wasn’t sure which of the three, afterward, when he tried to reconstruct the moment.
She raised a hand and touched his jaw with her fingertips, very softly, almost hesitantly. Adrián felt her cool fingers against his skin.
"Vega," she said, very quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I’m going to kiss you."
"You don’t have to ask permission."
"I’m not asking permission."
And she kissed him.
It was different from how he’d imagined it over the past week.
This wasn’t that.
This was a kiss from someone who’d spent days deciding whether or not to kiss him. She kissed him with her mouth open from the first second, her hand on his jaw sliding up to his neck and burying itself in his hair, her body pressing against his with a decisiveness that made him take two steps back by reflex until his back hit the wall of the closed theater.
Adrián kissed her back with everything he had. He put one hand on her waist and the other on the back of her neck. He felt her tongue pushing between his teeth with an urgency that didn’t match the rest of the Sariel Corvax he knew, and he responded with the same urgency, with the exact feeling that if he didn’t kiss her enough, she might leave. Might disappear. Might stop being there.
They kissed like that against the theater wall for a long time. Sariel made a small sound from somewhere deep in her throat, and Adrián felt that sound travel straight down his spine. He ran his hand along the side of her dress, over the curve of her waist and hip, and she pressed herself harder against him in response.
She bit his lower lip. Not hard. Just enough.
Adrián let out a noise he hadn’t planned on making. He moved his hand down the back of her thigh, over her stocking, and she lifted a leg instinctively, hooking it around his hip.
Adrián realized two things at the same time.
One: he was about to lose whatever control he had left.
Two: they were on the sidewalk. Of a movie theater. On a public street.
He pulled back. Just a few centimeters. Enough to breathe.
Sariel pulled back too. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was short. The dark red lipstick was smudged at the corner of her mouth and also on his.
They looked at each other.
And for one eternal second, neither said anything.
Then Sariel lowered her leg with awkward slowness, smoothed down her dress with both hands, and brought her fingers to her mouth to check the state of her lipstick.
"Adrián," she said, still not breathing quite right.
"Yeah?"
"We’re on the street."
"Wow, I hadn’t noticed."
"On a public street."
"Yeah, I can see that."
"Stop joking—there’s even an old lady with a little dog staring at us from the corner."
Adrián turned his head.
Indeed. An old woman. About seventy. With a little white dog. With the exact expression of someone who’s seen a lot of things in her life but has recently had to update the list.
She waved at them.
Adrián raised a hand back, embarrassed.
"Good evening," said Sariel, in a voice that was far too polite.
"Good evening, kids," the woman replied, and kept walking with her little dog with the dignity of an empress.
They stood in silence for a few more seconds. Then Sariel covered her face with both hands and let out a short, sharp sound that was half laugh and half stifled scream of embarrassment.
"Oh my god," she said, her voice muffled.
"Yeah."
"Oh my god, Adrián."
"That’s the second time you’ve said my name—should I start calling you Sariel?"
"Never in my life, never, have I ever done that on a public street."
"Me neither."
She lowered her hands. Her cheeks were pink—which, for her, was scandalous.
"We’re idiots," she said.
"We’re idiots."
"We came here to investigate. We came here to do serious work."
"Yeah."
"And we’re acting like teenagers."
"Yeah."
They looked at each other.
They both laughed at the same time, that awkward laugh that only appears when you’ve just done something completely out of character and don’t know how to process it.
Sariel fixed her hair. Ran her thumb along the corner of her mouth to fix the lipstick. Took a deep breath.
"Okay," she said, in a forcibly professional tone. "The investigation."
"The investigation."
"We’re going to walk. To Mercier Street. Like we’re... adults. Serious adults. Who investigate things."
"Serious adults who investigate things."
"Yeah."
"Okay."
She extended her hand. Adrián took it. They started walking toward Mercier Street, hand in hand, with Sariel’s lipstick visibly smudged and Adrián’s hair visibly a mess from her fingers, and neither of them commenting on any of it.
I’m going to remember this night, Adrián thought, with a very calm part of his brain, for the rest of my life.
He was right. But not for the reasons he thought.
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