Mirko watched Martín lay the final popsicle stick on his creation, admiring less the would-be grand tower and more the way Martín bit his lower lip when concentrating, the way his eyes shone bright green in the afternoon sunlight coming through the window.
"Well, it's not bad," Martín said quietly, leaning back on his chair once the hot glue had settled to regard the structure with a critical eye. "It's ugly as sin, but it would stand up."
He tittered to himself, and then for the first time he seemed to realize that Mirko was in the room with him, his eyes sliding over to the larger man and his lips parting in surprise.
"Oh," he said. "How long have you been there?"
Mirko shrugged, smiling. Did it matter? Martín looked sweet when he was caught deep in his own mind. That was reason enough to watch.
"What is it?" Mirko asked, gesturing to the construct on the table, and it was Martín's turn to shrug, flushing with some mix of embarrassment and mild dislike as he looked back at his popsicle tower.
"Offices, I suppose," he said spitefully. "A new high-rise. That's what they taught us to build at school- big, shiny, hideous things. That's where the money was. Modernity for the future of Argentina."
Mirko hummed, and Martín folded his arms. There was an odd look on his face- one that Mirko would perhaps call a melancholy variant of nostalgia. The bitterness of looking back on a long-forgotten wound.
"I wanted to build cathedrals," Martín murmured, his voice little more than a whisper.
Mirko stood and made his way behind Martín's chair, rubbing his shoulders to ease the tense muscles and kissing the top of his head to ease the bruised heart. What Martín spoke of was a dream that would never come true. That was always a little sad.
"What did you want to do?" Martín asked, tipping his head back to look up at Mirko. "Before...well, I don't know. Before everything."
"I was a boy when the war began," Mirko replied. "So I became a soldier. I never had time to dream."
"I'm sorry," Martín replied, and Mirko shook his head.
"No, no. Everything is good now."
Martín hummed, like he wasn't sure if that was true, but it was for Mirko. He had never much needed dreams. Still, silence settled between them for a moment, a tiny vigil for the unbuilt cathedrals, and the dreams that had never been dreamt.
"What will you do with it?" Mirko asked, poking the tower with one finger. It did not tremble or shift- it was sturdily made, with good foundations and internal supports. Well, Mirko knew Martín was very clever and talented (when he applied himself, which admittedly, was not always).
Martín smiled wickedly.
"Oh, I should like to throw it off the roof," he purred. "Or smash it with a baseball bat. Yes. In fact, let's do that right now."
Mirko raised his eyebrows at that, but he did enjoy how Martín trotted off to find his instruments of destruction, a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed little fox. He enjoyed more the way Martín laughed at the sound of splintering wood, at the rejection of what he should have become, and of everything proper in the world.
He certainly enjoyed the kiss he received for participating, something hot and open-mouthed, full of mischievous promises. He loved Martín an awful lot. In these last years, Martín had easily become the thing he loved most of all that lived on Planet Earth.
"You are happy?" Mirko asked him, looking back at the destruction they had left on the driveway.
"Oh, yes," Martín replied. "I'm very happy."
So Mirko was happy, too.
