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Javier arrives and leaves at the end of the summer season. And when he goes you always think it's the last you'll see of him, that he won't come back even if the circus does. He doesn't have roots, he's not somebody who likes to be tied down.
Still, every July you close Rosebrook’s little library earlier than usual and make your way into the town square where they set up the brightly colored tents to look for him. He's always there in the middle of it all, searching the faces amongst the crowd, a smile appearing on his face the moment he sees you. You greet him the same way you always do, arms winding around his broad shoulders, forehead pressed against his, that knot of tension in your chest finally loosening. He seems to soften under your touch, letting out a quiet breath that isn’t quite a relieved sigh, but it’s close enough in meaning. You’re here, it says. I missed you.
And every single time you hear it, you dare to hope he'll stay for good. He’ll make Rosebrook his home. Then, as he takes your hand and pulls you along, excited to show you the circus’ new acts, you’ll shake your head at your own foolishness. Trying to hold onto him is like holding water or sand. He’ll always find a way to slip through your fingers even when you try to tighten them.
Javier tells you stories of his travels while you walk together along the rows of vendors, arm around your waist, keeping you close. His voice is deep and warm, a bit raspy from years spent smoking, reminding you of lonely roads winding through canyons and mountain passes.
He has close ties with everyone, pointing them out when you pass them—the strongmen, the aerialists and clowns, even Ringmaster Carrillo, usually stoic-faced when seen outside of the ring and spotlight, returns Javier’s greeting with a smirk. And you’re never quite sure what to do when they look at you with an emotion akin to sympathy in their eyes, like somehow they see your soul’s selfish desires of taking him away from them. It makes something in your chest ache.
Every year gets a little harder to say goodbye. Especially now that you know how his lips feel against your skin, what it’s like to fall asleep in his arms, how sweetly domestic he can be in the mornings enjoying coffee and pancakes. And you hate yourself for it, but there are nights where you watch him sleep, peacefully dreaming and oblivious to your heartache, and wish you had the strength to stop loving him. To stop seeking him out every summer and surrendering yourself to him.
There’s going to come a time he doesn’t return. He’ll find someone else who settles his restless spirit in a way you never could, or he’ll piss off the wrong customer with his temper, or he might even return to his previous lifestyle as a drifter without any attachments.
Maybe this thing between you and Javier isn’t a forever kind of thing, but right here with his lips pressed against the crown of your head, completely yours—it’s enough.