The Orange Avalanche | Men Being Too Intimate

The warmth of the kiss still lingered in his chest, settling there in a way he hadn't expected. Outside, the plaza lights were still glowing far below the hill. Tomorrow morning the square would wake again. This is men being Intimate season three. The orange avalanche. The plaza held its early morning shade. Shutters were halfway open along the cafes and

Gail dragged metal chairs across stone near the terrace. The fountain ran in a low, steady rhythm. Habir slid a crate of oranges onto the edge of the stand. The wood caught briefly against the metal leg before settling. He adjusted the tablecloth with one hand while holding his phone to his ear with the other. Raphael answered on the other end. Habir shifted his weight and reached for the crate again. At the same moment, a wheel brushed the corner of the stand. The contact was light.

The crate tilted. Several oranges rolled free and moved outward across the stone. Habir caught the crate before it fell completely. The phone slipped from his shoulder into his hand. One orange struck lightly against the metal frame of a wheelchair. Gail steadied himself without assistance. He leaned forward with practice control and stopped another orange with his palm before it rolled farther. Habier ended the call. Gail passed the orange back toward the stand.

Habier crouched and collected the remaining fruit. When he stood, he took Galen properly for the first time. The chair sat balanced beneath him with quiet precision. His hands rested easily on the rims, forearms strong from repetition. Haber's gaze met Gael's. I'll make you a Jew. Habier said after a moment. You feel responsible? No, I thought I was sorry if it caused you trouble. A brief silence settled between them. Gail nodded once.

Habier placed an orange into the press and lowered the handle with measured pressure. The machine hummed under his grip. Juice gathered in the cup below. When he set it on the counter, Gail's hands rested lightly on the rims of his wheel. He took the cup and shifted slightly to clear space. Habir adjusted the crate beneath the counter and aligned it carefully so it sat flat against the wood. The plaza began to fill.

Gail remained near the side of the stand. He positioned himself so the flow of people moved around him without interruption. His chair aligned naturally with the seam in the stone, angled just enough to avoid the corner of the table. Habir wiped the counter and glanced toward him. Is it difficult? he asked, allowing the question to settle before finishing it. Gail held his gaze for a moment before answering.

You mean through people? It depends on how they move, he said. Habir nodded and placed another orange into the press. Gail shifted his hands lightly along the rims of his wheels, the movement familiar and unforced. Habier watched the ease with which he adjusted his position. The chair responded immediately to the smallest change in pressure. Gail finished the last of the juice and placed the empty cup on the counter.

The plaza remained within its first hour. Two women stopped near the stand and studied the chalkboard without speaking. One tilted her head toward the cafe at the corner. The other hesitated, still reading the handwritten list. Habir noticed them but did not move toward them. He finished wiping the press, folded the cloth once, and set it aside. He waited. Gail observed the same exchange from the side of the stand. The women shifted half a step away, their decision not yet settled.

Gail rolled forward just enough to enter their line of sight. You will miss it, he said. They turned toward him. The best orange juice in this town, he continued, his tone even. The women glanced toward Habir. Habir met their eyes without gesture or invitation. His hand rested lightly against the press. The women exchanged a few quiet words between them and stepped forward.

Two, please. Habier nodded and selected the fruit with care, testing the weight in his palm before placing each orange into the machine. Habier wiped his hands and looked at Gail. You're good, he said. Gail shifted slightly in his chair. His hands settled again on the rims before he turned, aligning the chair with the open path toward the fountain. Habir watched the movement. Gail paused once more. You press them yourself every weekend? Yes.

Gail rolled away toward the fountain without further comment. Habier remained where he was for a moment longer, then reached for another orange and placed it into the press. The sound of the motor blended back into the rhythm of the morning. Habier worked through the last of the prepared fruit, lowering the press with the same steady pressure he used every day.

Raphael approached from the cafe terrace and stepped behind the stand beside his husband, setting down a stack of cups before sliding a crate farther beneath the counter. Near the fountain, movement slowed. Gail had angled his chair slightly away from the stand, his hands rested on the rims without turning them. His shoulders aligned toward the open stretch of plaza near the East Street.

Habir followed the direction of Gail's attention. That's Andre's, right? He asked to Raphael without shifting his gaze. Raphael glanced toward the fountain. Yep. He reached up and straightened Habier's collar. Then pressed a brief kiss to his cheek before returning to the crate beneath the counter. The first cord carried across the square with a clarity that did not compete with the fountain. Gail had heard the arrangement many times before.

Andres played in the plaza regularly, sometimes alone, sometimes beside the older musician who kept a steady rhythm beside him. The songs were familiar enough that Gail could anticipate the rise of the chorus before it arrived. He positioned himself near the front of the small crowd without hurry.

The stone sloped slightly near the fountain, and he adjusted once to settle evenly. People filled in behind him. Gail watched the shape of the sound rather than the movement of the square, the lift of Andres' chin at the higher notes. The small breath drawn before the transition into the second refrain. Fingers pressed more firmly against the neck of the guitar when the rhythm deepened. He did not look elsewhere. When the song ended, applause moved through the gathered crowd in a gradual swell.

Gail's hands came together with the others, steady and unembarrassed. Andres looked toward the front row, and their eyes met without delay. The acknowledgement held for a second longer than courtesy required before Andres lowered his gaze and adjusted the guitar for the next song. Across the plaza, Jabir finished folding the last length of canvas from the stand. He tied it down and stepped back to check the alignment of the crate.

The music continued. He glanced toward the fountain. Gail stood out to him immediately, his chair faced forward. His shoulders leaned slightly into the sound. His attention did not wander when others shifted or crossed between him and the musicians. Habier lifted one of the empty bins and set it into place. How close are you with Andres? He asked Raphael, keeping his tone even. We drink sometimes, Raphael said. That's all. Haber nodded once. Raphael studied him briefly. What is it?

Habier adjusted the strap around the crate. Nothing. He looked toward the fountain again.

The following morning unfolded with the same order as the one before it. Habier had already arranged the oranges in two neat rows and secured the edge of the canopy where the fabric had loosened overnight. Raphael stood beside him, counting the coins and placing them carefully into the tin beneath the counter. Gail approached at a steady pace and stopped directly in front of the counter. One, he said. Habier looked up immediately. Juice gathered in the cup below.

Raphael leaned forward to wipe a small streak of pulp from the counter near Habier's hand. His shoulder brushed lightly against Habir's arm before he stepped back into position. Gail placed the coins on the table. As Gail lifted the cup, Habir reached for another orange. He pressed it in the same measured rhythm and placed the second cup beside the first. Gail's hand stopped.

I didn't order that. Habir wiped his hands on the cloth and shifted his chin slightly toward the fountain. You should give one to him. Gail followed the line of his eyes. Is it that obvious? Habir met his gaze steadily. I watched the square. Raphael shifted his weight and looked between them. What square are we watching now?

Habier stepped closer and nudged him lightly with his hip, pushing him half a step to the side of the counter. Go stack the cups. Raphael laughed under his breath and moved, brushing his hand briefly along Habier's lower back as he passed. Gail held the look between them, then turned his chair toward the fountain. Raphael watched him move away. You are invested, he said quietly.

Habier adjusted the crate beneath the counter so it sat flush against the leg of the stand. I am observant, he replied. The musicians had already begun tuning near the fountain by the time Gail reached the edge of the crowd. Andre stood slightly apart from the older guitarist, adjusting the strap across his shoulder and checking the pitch with small deliberate turns of the tuning peg. Gail approached.

He stopped just outside the first row of listeners and held the juice in his hand for a moment before extending it forward. Andres looked at the juice first, then at Gail. Thank you, Andres said. Their fingers made contact briefly when the weight shifted from one hand to the other. Neither withdrew quickly. Gail remained there as the first chord carried across the square. The music rose gradually, measured, and clean.

The crowd thickened behind him. When the song reached its second refrain, Andres glanced forward, his eyes found Gail. The look held only long enough to register recognition before returning to the rhythm. Across the plaza, Habir stacked the last of the empty crates beneath the stand. Raphael wiped down the counter with slow circular movements, though his attention had shifted. Habir glanced toward the fountain one. Then again, Raphael noticed. Havi, are you checking Andreas?

Habir let out a short breath that almost passed for a laugh. He turned his head toward Raphael and held his gaze for a second steady and amused. I'm checking the exchange, he said. Raphael leaned his elbow against the counter. What exchange was the Habier's gaze remained on the front row of the crowd where Gail stood steady and attentive. Raphael followed the line of his sight. He watched Andres lower his head toward the microphone between verses and saw the juice cup resting at his feet.

Raphael looked back at Habier. Habier allowed himself a small smile. The music carried across the square as the song ended and the applause rose. Near the fountain, Andres leaned slightly toward Gail and said something that required Gail to bend closer to be heard. Habir observed the angle of the conversation, then turned back to the stand.

The next weekend returned with the same arrangement of light across the square. Gail arrived within the same hour as before. The timing was no longer accidental. Habir had already arranged the oranges and secured the canopy when he saw him approaching. Raphael stepped aside as Gail stopped at the counter, the movement natural now. Their exchange remained simple. Coins rested briefly on the wood before changing hands. Andres played as he always did beside the fountain.

Once, as he shifted his guitar strap, his hand settled briefly on Gail's shoulder before moving away again. When Gail returned to the stand later that morning he did not approach as casually. He touched me, he said. Habier set down the cloth in his hand and studied him. The following weekend brought the same rhythm. Gail arrived again.

I don't think he notices me, Gail said. Habier regarded him without hurry. You have nothing to worry about, he replied. He pressed his palm lightly against his own stomach in quiet demonstration. You are in better shape than I ever was. Gail looked at him for a second before the tension broke. He let out a short laugh. Habir's mouth curved in response. Raphael glanced between them, shaking his head as he returned to the stack of cups.

Across these weekends, Gail also began to see what had always been present between Jabier and Raphael. The way Jabier leaned into him when the line thinned, the ease of their closeness, unperformed and steady.

Then one weekend morning Gail approached the stand. The song rising from the fountain did not belong to Andres. Gail's hand tightened slightly on the rim of his wheel and pushed back from the counter. The chair turned cleanly toward the open stretch of stone. Gail, Habir called after him. Gail did not slow. He rolled toward the edge of the square, the unfamiliar voice carrying behind him as the music continued.

Habier remained still for a moment, one hand resting flat against the counter. He adjusted the stack of cups so they aligned evenly, then looked toward Raphael. Message him, Habier said. Message who? Andre. Raphael frowned slightly. What am I checking? Why he's not here? Raphael glanced toward the fountain as if only now noticing the absence.

Raphael took out his phone and leaned against the counter while typing. The response came quickly. He says he caught a cold past few days, stayed home. He's feeling better now. Habir absorbed the information without visible reaction. Ask him if he's free tonight. Raphael looked up. For what? Just ask. Raphael returned to the screen and typed again. A moment passed.

He says yes, why? Habir held out his hand. Give me your phone. Raphael hesitated only briefly before handing over the phone. When Andreas answered, Habir's voice was even. It's Habier from the plaza. We're setting up dinner tonight near the fountain. You should come and eat properly. There was a pause long enough for Raphael to glance toward him. Yes, Habir continued. Tonight. When the call ended, he returned the phone without explanation and looked again toward the direction Gail had taken.

He dialed. The first call went unanswered. He let it ring to completion before lowering the phone and sending a message instead. Dinner tonight at the plaza. The reply came within minutes. Not in the mood. He pressed call again. This time Gail answered. Dinner, Habir said. Tonight. You don't have to stay long, Habir continued. Just come. Habier ended the call and set the phone down face down on the counter. Raphael studied him with open curiosity.

I'm hosting. The unfamiliar song reached its final line.

Night settled over the plaza without the noise of the market. The fountain ran steady, catching the reflection of string lights that stretched between the cafe terrace and the old stone arch. The square held a slower rhythm now. Habier arrived with Raphael as the evening settled fully over the square. The table had been reserved outside near the fountain. It was set for four, though only three chairs stood around it. Andres arrived next.

He greeted Raphael with a brief clasp at the shoulder, nodded to Habier, and took one of the chairs without hesitation. Gail arrived last. The light from the cafe caught along the metal frame of his chair as he crossed the square. He slowed when he reached the table, taking in the arrangement. Habir shifted his own seat slightly to widen the space. Gail positioned himself along the open edge and settled into place. For a moment the four of them sat within the same circle. Habir spoke first.

Something ordinary about the heat lingering from the afternoon. Raphael added a story about a customer who had argued over fruit quality earlier that week. Andres laughed. Gail listened. Gradually the conversation reorganized itself. Raphael leaned back slightly in his chair and observed the way Andres angled his body toward Gail. Small plates began to arrive one after another. Andres lifted one and hesitated briefly before placing it onto Gail's plate.

The gesture was simple. Gail glanced down at it, then back at him. Thank you. For a while conversation softened into the rhythm of passing and tasting. Forks crossed briefly over the same dish. Fingers brush near the bowl of olives before retreating. Habir allowed himself a small smile and lifted his glass. The night was no longer about introduction. It was about alignment. The plates thinned one by one. The square had grown darker, voices around them settling into evening softness.

A server approached. Bills were settled without discussion. Chairs shifted lightly against stone as they stood. They moved away from the brighter edge of the square and into the side street that climbed gradually toward the older building. The fountain sound faded behind them and was replaced by distant conversation and the hum of traffic beyond the ridge. The incline became noticeable halfway up the street.

Gail adjusted his grip on the rim. Andres watched the change. Let me, he said. Gail hesitated only long enough to acknowledge the offer. Then he lifted his hands from the wheels and rested them lightly against his thigh. Andre stepped behind the chair and placed his hands on the handle. The first push required more force than expected. The slope held firm. Andres leaned forward into it, breath shortening as he adjusted his footing.

Raphael continued walking beside Habier, steady and unbothered by the grade. Habier felt the pull in his own legs and said nothing. Halfway up, Andres exhaled sharply. It's steeper than it looks. It always is, Gail replied. There was no strain in his voice. They reached the flatter stretch near a small tree set into the stone. Andres released the handles and stepped forward again, brushing a hand once across his forehead. Gail turned slightly toward him.

He reached up and lightly straightened the strand of hair that had fallen across Andre's forehead. Thank you, Andres said. Habir caught Raphael's sleeve and drew him back half a pace. Give them a minute, he murmured. Raphael glanced toward the parahead. He understood. They stopped beneath the tree while Andres and Gail continued a few steps farther before pausing again. Andres leaned closer now, speaking in a lower voice. Gail listened without breaking eye contact.

Behind them, Raphael nudged Habier lightly with his shoulder. You planned this, he said. Habier did not deny it. He watched Gail's expression change. As Andre stepped slightly aside to speak again, Haber lifted his hand where only Gail could see it and gave a small, unmistakable thumbs up. Gail's mouth curved, just briefly. The night carried on around them. After a moment, Andres gestured farther up the street.

My place isn't far, he said. I could play you something. Gail looked toward the slope ahead. This time, he said, I push myself. Gail rolled his sleeves once and set his hands firmly on the rims. He pushed and The first rotation was controlled. The second carried more force. His shoulders engaged, arms steady, breath measured. The chair moved upward without hesitation. Andres walked beside him, close enough to step in if needed.

He watched the movement carefully. Impressed. Halfway up, Gail increased his pace slightly. You might be good with fingers, he said, breath even, but I'm good with my arm. Andres looked at him fully then. I can see that. Behind them, Raphael slipped his hand into Habier's. They began their own descent toward home. The night was warm enough to linger. Andres let his fingers rest against the strings before lowering the guitar carefully to the floor beside his chair.

Gail held Andre's gaze as the last vibration faded. Andre stood and stepped toward him. The kiss held long enough to register before they drew apart. A phone vibrated against the table. Gail glanced down at the screen, How is it going? Gail let out a small breath through his nose. I'll use the bathroom, Andres said after a moment, nodding toward the hallway. Back in a minute. Gail nodded. The bathroom door closed softly. Gail did not type immediately.

He replayed the moment once in his mind before letting his thumbs move. He kissed me just now. The reply came quickly. I knew it. I need details. He typed again, we talk tomorrow. And thanks for tonight. There was a pause before the next message appeared. Over orange juice, you're welcome. Gail looked at the screen for a few seconds longer before placing the phone back on the table.

The bathroom door opened. Outside the street was quiet. An ESFJ builds connection through attention. A presence that notices what others miss when the world moves too quickly. For Habier, the plaza is never random. He remembers faces. He watches how people move through the square. And ESFP moves through the world differently. Energy A restless pull toward whatever feeling rises brightest in the world. For Gail, life has always been motion. Following music.

Turning wherever the day feels most alive. In the plaza that morning, neither of them forced what followed. Gale Trusted, an ESFJ and an ESFP. Different ways of moving through the same square. But sometimes connection begins somewhere unexpected. Sometimes it begins with an orange juice across a small wooden stand. And a friend who was already watching the moment arrive. The orange avalanche.

Don't forget to subscribe, like, and share for more stories on gay audiobooks. Also, my short novel, Men Being Too Intimate series, The Unplanned Weekend, The Night We Found What We Lost, The Rules of the Dance, and more are now available on Kindle Uncle. You'll find the link in the description. Hope you check it out in the middle of the year. Thank you.