The elevator in the building we never stopped.
Since I moved to the 8-A floor, the elevator in the lobby became the only place where we coincided. The clock marked 07:37 when the doors opened and he came in with a grey suit and white headphones, the newspaper folded under his arm. I wore the same red folder every day and we greeted each other with a head inclination that, in time, became a small smile.
We never talked. The building was new, the walls of the mirror and metal elevator, and the journey lasted forty-three seconds exactly. Quietly, we watched the number go down from the 8th to the lobby. Still, something began to happen in that minimal space. A longer crossover of eyes, an accidental friction when pressing the button on the ground floor, the clear perception that he smelled of toasted wood and neutral soap.
One morning of intense rain, the elevator stopped between floors 5 and 4. The light blinked and a mechanical voice announced a temporary technical problem. There were no alarms, only the sound of rain against the outer deck. He released a brief laugh and removed the headphones.
"Do you know it takes an average of nine minutes to solve this?" he asked, looking at the light panel.
"Nine minutes is a long time," I replied, surprised by my own voice.
We presented ourselves: Daniel, architect in the study of the third floor; I, proofreader of texts for an online publishing house. We shook hands with the formality of those who have just discovered that the other also exists outside the elevator. The light returned after forty seconds, but neither of the two pressed the button to restart the descent.
That night, on returning, the elevator was waiting for us empty. Daniel held the door with his elbow and invited me to pass first. The journey was slower than usual because the cabin responded with laziness. In the reflection of the mirror walls I saw how I looked at my neck and how, without realizing it, I leaned my head a little further to the right.
"This is uncomfortable," he said when the elevator stopped again, this time on the 6th floor.
"It is," I admitted. "Because I've been wondering for weeks if you feel the same way."
He approached slowly, leaving enough space between us so that he could go back. I did not. His hand brushed my wrist and, at that touch, asked without words if we could cross the limit. He responded by leaning forward and kissing me with a delicacy that contrasted with the intensity contained in the last few weeks. The kiss was brief. We separated when we heard the restart buzz of the cabin.
Upon arriving at the 8th floor rest, Daniel did not enter his house. He waited while I opened the door. I turned and, for the first time, invited him to pass. Inside, the light in the hallway lit only the hall. He closed the door and left the newspaper on the console. The tension had become palpable; each breath was felt higher than the previous one.
"Are you sure?" he asked, without touching me yet.
"Yes," I answered, and added that I wanted it to happen, that I wished to feel his mouth in the hollow of my neck and his hands in the corner of my back. I wanted to cross that open door between the two. Daniel nodded, the serious expression, and began to unbutton my coat with deliberate slowness.
We stood in the hall, kissing more urgently. His fingers got tangled in my hair as my hands explored the breadth of his shoulders under the jacket. The wet rain cloth fell to the floor. We moved towards the couch without turning on the lights; the orange glow of street lanterns was enough to distinguish silhouettes and contours.
Daniel knelt down in front of me when I sat on the edge of the sofa. He lifted my skirt carefully and waited for my confirmation before continuing. I nodded. His mouth drew a warm line from the knee to the inside of my thigh, while his hands gently separated my legs. I gagged when his tongue found the point that most shook me, slow at first, then with a rhythm that seemed to read every one of my reactions. My fingers got tangled in his short hair; I asked for more pressure, he obeyed without hesitation.
When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I asked him to fit in. He unbuttoned my blouse, kissed my exposed skin and helped me remove my underwear. He undressed himself with the same controlled calm, leaving his wide chest and abdomen in sight firm. Before it was placed between my legs, I looked for his gaze and asked him to fill me, to do it without haste. Daniel opened the condom he pulled out of his wallet and unwrapped it with firm fingers. He entered me with a sigh contained, stopping half way to make sure he kept wanting more. I answered him around the waist with his legs and drawing him inside until we were completely united.
The rhythm we set was paused at first, as if we wanted to prolong the moment we had waited so long. Each attack caused a perfect friction against my interior; I arched my back and asked it not to stop. He accelerated, holding my hips with just force. The wet sound of our bodies, the gasps and the skin rubbing against the sofa cloth filled the room. When I reached the climax, I held on to his shoulders and pronounced his name loudly. Daniel gave himself up shortly afterwards, burying his face in my neck as his breathing was slit.
We stood still for a moment, soaked in sweat, the heartbeat still racing. Then, Daniel took care of himself, got rid of the condom and came back with a warm towel that he offered me before using another one for him. We sat together on the couch, the orange light entering through the window.
"This doesn't have to be an isolated accident," he said, caressing my knee with his thumb.
"I know," I replied. "But I want us to continue to decide every step, without haste.
He nodded, and in that little confirmation we understood that the elevator would remain the place where we would start every day, only now we would know exactly what to expect when we reached the 8th floor.
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