Learning to dance in the rain

It had been six months since you and Santi ended things. 

Six months of silence that felt both endless and unbearable. 

At first, you told yourself it was necessary, that staying away from him was the only way to heal. 

But how do you really avoid someone who was tangled into every corner of your life? 

Frankie was practically his brother, and Frankie’s wife was your soulsister. Their house had always been a second home for both of you, but now it felt like a minefield. You skipped dinners, ignored invitations, turned down plans. Anything to avoid running into him.  

Still, he was everywhere. In the songs that used to play in his car. In the familiar stretch of beach you couldn’t bring yourself to visit anymore. In the small, mundane things, like the way someone poured a drink or laughed from their whole chest. That sound would hit you out of nowhere and drag you back to him.

Trying to move on felt like learning to walk again with broken bones. 

Tonight was supposed to be a step forward. A date with someone new. Someone who wasn’t him.

And it hadn’t been bad. The conversation had been light, even easy at moments. He made you laugh once or twice. You didn’t feel fireworks, but you hadn’t expected to. You just wanted… proof. Proof that your heart still had the capacity to move past Santiago García.

But then he leaned back in his chair in a certain way, and you remembered Santi. Or when he asked about your favourite city, and you thought about the stories you used to tell curled up on Santi’s couch, his voice low, his hand warm around yours. You hated how easily those memories bled into the present, uninvited and relentless.

By the time you step out of the place, the night air was heavy with rain. The restaurant still lingered on your skin; warm lights, the faint trace of red wine on your lips, the echo of laughter that never quite reached your eyes. 

The first drops darkened the sidewalk and he offered to drive you home. You shook your head, insisting on a taxi, but the sky cracked open with a flash of lightning and you reluctantly gave in.

At first, the ride was quiet except for the drum of water against the windshield. The headlights cut narrow paths through the storm, and you watched the blur of trees and road slip past. Your thoughts drifting restlessly back to Santi, no matter how hard you tried to hold them elsewhere.

Then the car slowed. He pulled off onto a dark side road, one you didn’t recognize, and the glow of the main streetlights had disappeared behind you.

You shifted uneasily in your seat. 

“Why are we stopping here?” Your voice was steady, though your pulse raced.

He gave you a quick smile, glancing your way.

 “Just thought we could talk a little longer. I had a good time tonight. Did you?”

Your hands twisted in your lap. You forced a polite nod. “Yes. It was… nice.”

“Just nice?” 

His tone was playful, but there was something in it that made you tighten your grip on your bag. You tried to soften it with a smile. 

“I don’t usually do this, you know? Go out, I mean. It’s been… a while.”

He leaned back in his seat, studying you.

“So… you’re not really over him, that ex of yours, are you?”

The words struck sharp, and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. You turned your face toward the window, the storm outside louder than before. He chuckled low under his breath. 

“Hey, I’m not judging. He must’ve been something else, if you’re still hung up on him months later.” His gaze lingered on you, too long, too heavy. “But maybe it’s time you give someone else a try.”

When he leaned closer, you stiffened. The brush of his lips against yours felt wrong, hollow. Still, for a second, you let him… until his hand slid higher on your thigh and under your skirt.

“No.” Your voice cracked sharp as you pushed him away. Or at least tried to.

But he didn’t stop. His fingers pressed harder, his body closing in while his mouth aimed at your neck now. Panic surged through your chest and you acted on reflex. The sting of your palm across his cheek echoed in the small confined space of the car.

His expression shifted in an instant, charm dissolving into something ugly. He exhaled sharply, anger tightening his jaw. Then he leaned across you, yanked the handle of the passenger door, and shoved it open.

“Get out.”

The rain hit you like ice, soaking through your clothes in seconds as you stumbled into the night. The car roared away, its taillights vanishing into the storm, leaving you stranded on a dark, empty stretch of road. 

Shivering, you wrapped your arms around yourself, almost in shock. For one desperate second, you thought about calling her, your best friend, but you couldn’t. Tonight was supposed to be hers, hers and Frankie’s. They had put up with enough of your heartbreak already.

Your phone trembled in your wet hands. You scrolled through your contacts, hovering over a name you had sworn not to touch again, even when you hadn't been able to delete it. And yet, when the storm screamed around you and your chest felt like it was caving in, there was only one person you wanted.

Santi.

With numb fingers, you typed just three words.

I need you.

The moment you hit send, regret crashed instantly. Feeling sharp on your skin  like the rain soaking through your clothes. What had you done? 

Months of silence, months of pretending you were fine without him, and now a single slip had undone it all.

You stared down at the glowing screen, your thumb hovering uselessly over the text. Maybe you could delete it before he saw it, before you could humiliate yourself any further. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

A hollow certainty spread through you then: he wouldn’t answer. Why would he? Not anymore. Not after the way you had cut him out, avoided him, pretended his absence was survivable. Standing alone in the rain, heart hammering, reaching for the one man you shouldn’t felt  like rock bottom.

And then the screen lit up.

It was him. 

The sound of the ringtone filled the night, piercing and incessant against the roar of the storm, his name flashing at you with each insistent ring. Your heart lurched violently, your pulse surging, wild and uneven, until it felt like your heartbeat had tangled with the ringtone.

Your breath caught in your throat, torn between the desperate need to answer, to cling to the sound of his voice like a lifeline and the terror of what he might say. Another part, the deepest part that still ached from the break, wanted to let it ring, letting him fade back into the storm.

But the call kept coming, his name burning into the screen, impossible to ignore.

You hadn’t expected him to answer. You hadn’t expected anything. But of course he had to.

You stared at the call, motionless.

Answer it. Don’t answer it.

It felt like both choices could break you.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, trembling. You imagined his voice on the other end. Low, steady, achingly familiar. A voice you had sworn you didn’t need anymore. 

But what if he sounded distant? What if he was angry? What if he didn’t care at all?

You let the phone ring once more. Twice. Three times. By the fourth ring, you almost convinced yourself to let it die out. To take the easy way, slide back into silence, pretend the text had never been sent.

And then, just before it could end, your thumb pressed down.

The line clicked alive. And you were greeted with… nothing.

No voice, no words, just the faint hiss of the rain crackling in your ear. You held the phone tight against your cheek, your breath loud in the quiet, every second stretching painfully thin.

Maybe he was hesitating too. Maybe he had seen your name light up his screen and felt the same rush of confusion and disbelief you had. You pictured him somewhere warm, safe, staring at his phone the way you were staring into the night. Unsure if this was a mistake, unsure if either of you could survive hearing the other again.

Your throat ached with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t. The rain poured harder, blurring your vision, dripping from your chin onto the phone. You opened your mouth but no words came.

And then, finally, his voice shaping your name cut the silence.

Just the sound of it hit you harder than the storm itself. Every memory you had tried to bury surged back, raw and immediate.

A pause, heavy, charged, before he spoke again.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, steady, but you could hear the undercurrent, the sharp edge of worry threading through each word.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The rain hammered against you, the cold seeping deeper into your bones, but it was the silence between you both that left you trembling. You swallowed, throat raw, words trapped on the edge of breaking. Your voice shook when it finally escaped.

“I… I went on a date tonight.” You forced the words out, shaky and thin. “He… he offered to drive me home, but he didn’t. He pulled over somewhere, and when I said no, he…”

The breath hitched in your chest, your hand tightening around the phone until your knuckles burned. “He wouldn’t stop. I… I slapped him. He made me get out of the car.”

The storm swallowed your words, but you knew he had heard them. You could feel it in the silence that followed, heavy and dangerous. His breathing, rough and unsteady, the weight of his anger pressing through the phone. Not at you, never at you, but at what had just been done to you. His fury was sharp enough that for a heartbeat you were almost afraid of it, of the violence coiled in his silence.

And then, when he finally spoke, his voice cut through the night like a blade.

“Where are you?”

Your chest constricted. You looked around desperately, the road disappearing into shadows, trees bending under the rain.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know where I am.”

Another beat of silence, this one different, steadier. When he spoke again, his tone had shifted, stripped of the sharp edges, calm and low, the voice he always used when he needed to steady you.

“Okay. Breathe. You don’t have to know. Just… unlock your phone. Send me your location.”

Your hands shook so badly you almost dropped the device. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“It will,” he said firmly, no hesitation. “I’ve got you. Just send it.”

You bit your lip hard, forcing your fingers to obey, fumbling with the wet screen until finally the pin was sent. You whispered into the receiver, voice trembling, “It’s sent.”

His answer came fast, unshakable, like a vow.

“Good. Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

The call ended, leaving you with nothing but the storm and the echo of his voice still burning in your ear. For a moment you simply stood there, clutching the phone to your chest as if that alone could anchor you. He was coming. 

The thought was both a relief and a knife twisting deeper inside you.

Each second dragged, heavy with the weight of the past. The rain blurred everything into shadow, cold shivers running down your spine, but your mind was far louder than the storm. Memories you had tried to bury surfaced unbidden: Santi’s laugh spilling out over a bad movie, the way he used to find your hand without looking, how he had once been the only person you trusted when the world felt unsafe.

And here you were again. Trusting him. Reaching for him when you had sworn you wouldn’t.

You let out a shaky breath, pressing your forehead against your cold palm. Alone, you kept replaying the night in fragments: laughter over a glass of wine, polite smiles you had forced, the desperate attempt to be normal again. You had gone on that date to prove something, to yourself more than to anyone else. You had started the night determined to move forward, to prove you could start over, could untangle your life from Santiago.

Instead, you had circled right back to him, as if every path you took bent toward the same center.

Here you were, drenched and trembling, waiting for him as if no time at all had passed. Not because you wanted to, but because you had no choice. And maybe that was the truth you had been running from all along.

After minutes that felt like an eternity, the headlights finally cut through the storm, and your chest lurched as you recognized him. Santi’s car rolled to a stop beside you, tires hissing in puddles. He killed the engine, and for a long, loaded second, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, he unlocked the door.

You didn’t wait. As the  door opened, he slid slightly forward, silently inviting you in. No words. No questions. Just that quiet, deliberate gesture that felt like both a relief and a test.

You climbed in, shivering, the wet fabric of your clothes clinging to your skin. The interior smelled faintly of rain and him. Comforting, familiar, yet foreign after months apart. You closed the door gently behind you. The car was warm, a stark contrast to the storm outside, but the silence inside was almost unbearable.

He started the engine again, and the steady hum filled the space. You avoided his eyes, staring at the blurred windshield, watching raindrops race each other down the glass. He adjusted the mirror, clearing it with a swipe of his sleeve, and then glanced at you. Just a flicker of his gaze, quickly gone.

For a moment, everything felt… awkward. Your hands twisted in your lap, his fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel. You could feel the unspoken history pressing between you, thick and suffocating. Neither of you spoke, yet every unuttered word vibrated in the small space.

Finally, he spoke, low and careful.

 “Are you… okay?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “I… I am now.”

His gaze flicked toward you for the briefest moment, and something unspoken passed between you. Relief. Caution. The awareness of how fragile this moment was.

For a while, silence returned, heavy but not uncomfortable this time. You both avoided looking directly at each other, yet every subtle movement carried weight, charged with the memory of months apart.

Finally, Santi’s voice broke the quiet again, softer this time, almost hesitant. 

“You… you scared me.”

Your lips parted, but only a small sound escaped. “I am sorry…” The words were fragile, almost a whisper, but they carried everything. The fear, the relief, the longing.

He glanced at you briefly, then back at the road. “You don't need to be,” he trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished, letting the air carry its meaning.

You shifted slightly, your shoulder brushing the edge of his, and a shiver ran through you, not from cold, but from the proximity, the intimacy of shared silence. Your voice trembled when you finally spoke again. 

“Thank you for coming.”

He let out a low breath, almost a chuckle. “I told you I would.”

At last, you dared to look at him. Really look.

The low glow of the dashboard carved shadows across his face, and your chest ached at the sight. His dark curls were longer than before, threaded with silver that hadn’t been there months ago. His jaw was rough with stubble, his eyes the same deep, warm brown you remembered, but behind them, there was a heaviness, a tiredness that hadn’t existed when you last sat beside him.

And yet… he was still Santi. Still grounded, steady, the quiet shelter in any tempest.

Your gaze flicked lower. Just an old tee and grey sweatpants, the fabric rumpled, the kind of clothes he wore only at home. He hadn’t bothered to change. The realization hit you hard: he had rushed out the door the moment your message reached him. No hesitation. No thought for himself. Just coming for you.

When he finally glanced back, your eyes caught and held, and for a long moment neither of you looked away. Then he exhaled, the sound heavy in the confined space.

“You’re soaked.” His voice was soft but firm, practical in a way that felt like him. He shifted, reaching into the back seat, and when he turned again he held a folded bundle of fabric in his hand. “I grabbed something for you to change into.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at the familiar sight of one of his old hoodies, worn and soft, the navy color faded from years of use. He set it gently in your lap, as though it was nothing, as though it wasn’t everything.

You held the hoodie against you, nerves prickling under your skin.

“I should change… before I catch a cold,” you muttered.

“Yeah,” Santi said, his voice quiet, his eyes still fixed firmly on the road ahead.

You hesitated, then added quickly: “But you can’t look.”

That earned you a sideways glance, his brow lifting. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” you shot back, though your voice was softer than you intended.

At that, the corner of his mouth tugged upward, the faintest echo of the smile you remembered. “Not like I haven’t seen it all a thousand times before.”

Heat rose in your cheeks despite the cold soaking through you. You turned your face toward the window, muttering “That’s not the point. That was… different.”

“Was it?” he asked, almost under his breath, though his eyes returned to the road. The question lingered between you, unanswered.

Your throat tightened. “Just… don’t,” you said finally, shoving at the seatbelt until it clicked free and shifted into the back seat, the car swaying gently as you moved. The air was thick, close, filled with the sound of rain hammering on the roof. You peeled your wet top away from your skin, then your skirt, shivering, every rustle of fabric louder than it should have been in the enclosed space.

Santi kept his eyes pinned forward, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. He inhaled through his nose, steady and sharp, as though sheer discipline alone could hold him together. But the rearview mirror betrayed him. His gaze flickered upward once, just once, catching the blurred reflection of you slipping into the hoodie. He shut his eyes for a second, jaw tight, before forcing himself back to the road.

The car seemed smaller somehow, heavy with everything unspoken.

When you were done, you tugged the hem of the hoodie lower and let out a shaky breath. “Okay. Safe to look now.”

Sliding back into the passenger seat, you tugged the hoodie closer around you. You sank into its warmth, the fabric heavy with his scent. Soap and something unshakably him. Comforting and disarming all at once.

He didn’t glance back right away. His fingers tapped once against the wheel, steadying himself. Then, finally, he let his eyes meet you. His gaze lingered there, dark and unreadable, before he looked away again.

“Fits you,” he said simply. But the weight in his voice told you it meant far more.

You shifted in the seat, suddenly hyperaware of the way its hem barely touched the beginning of your thighs. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. The word felt clumsy, too small for everything it carried.

Silence stretched. Not heavy like before, but brittle, like glass, ready to crack with the wrong word.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie. “I didn’t…” You stopped, swallowing hard. The urge to fill the quiet clashed with the fear of saying too much.

Santi’s knuckles flexed once against the steering wheel. His voice came low, rough.

 “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.”

The words should have been a relief, but instead they pressed down on you. Because maybe you wanted to explain. Maybe you wanted him to understand. But months of silence had built walls too high, and neither of you seemed ready to climb them.

The words left out of your mouth before you could stop them. “Are you… angry with me?”

His head tilted just slightly, not toward you but as if the question itself caught him off guard.

“I mean,” you exhaled hard, pressing your palms together. “It feels wrong. Calling you after months of… ignoring your calls. After everything. I don’t even know why I did it. I don’t know why I…”

Your throat closed around the words. Santi’s grip tightened once more on the wheel before he let out a slow breath through his nose. He didn’t look at you, his profile carved sharp in the dim light. 

“No,” he said finally, his voice low, calm. “I’m not angry.”

The answer should have soothed you, but instead it twisted something deeper. Because if he wasn’t angry, then what was he?

He kept his gaze on the road, but his next words were softer, unguarded.

“I was. For a while. But mostly…” A pause, a breath. “Mostly I just stopped expecting to hear from you again.”

The sound of the rain filled the silence that followed, but inside the car it was louder, the words echoing between you, impossible to ignore.

Your chest tightened. “Santi…”

The moment his name left your lips, his grip on the wheel faltered, just a fraction. His head turned the barest degree, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard right. Months of rejection, of everything left unsaid, wrapped around those two syllables until they felt heavier than anything else you could have spoken.

He swallowed hard, eyes snapping back to the road, but not fast enough to hide the way something shifted in them. Pain, relief, maybe both. His knuckles tightened against the leather, the muscle in his jaw flexing like he was bracing himself.

“Santi,” you whispered again, softer this time, and his breath caught, audible even over the hum of the engine.

He shook his head once, sharply, as if to clear it. His voice came rough, lower than before. “Don’t. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I still…” Your voice cracked. You pressed your lips together, searching for ground. “I don’t know why I called you. I just… when I was out there tonight, I didn’t know who else to…”

His hands flexed on the wheel, steadying himself. Finally, he glanced at you, his eyes dark, unreadable but burning with something you couldn’t quite name. 

“You don’t have to explain. You called, and I came. That’s all that matters.”

The words should have been simple. They weren’t.

“Why…? Why did you come? Why did you answer me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling. He didn’t answer at once. Then, without a word, he guided the car to the side of the road, tires hissing as they hit the wet asphalt shoulder. The engine idled, and the world outside blurred into a smear of rain and darkness.

Finally, he turned his gaze toward you, eyes sharp but unreadable, and the storm outside seemed to fade in comparison.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, low, cautious, as if the answer might break you both.

You nodded immediately, throat tight.

He inhaled slowly, jaw flexing.

“Because I couldn’t… not,” he said, voice rough, deliberate. “When I saw your message, I felt… I don’t know, a… fear, maybe, in your words. And I couldn’t stay home. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t care. I came because I had to know you were safe. Because I’ve always… I’ve always needed to know you’re safe. Even if it’s hard, even if you push me away… even if I’m not supposed to be there anymore.” A pause. “I came because it’s you.”

Your chest tightened, and your breath caught. Every word of his seemed to press into you, raw and urgent, a thread you weren’t sure you were ready to touch, but needed to.

“You… you didn’t have to,” you whispered, voice breaking, though a tremor of relief snuck through.

“I know,” he said softly, eyes steady on you, unwavering. “But I did. And I’m here. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

You wanted to reach for him, to bridge the months of distance with a touch, but something held you back. Your fingers tightened around the soft fabric of the hoodie, inhaling the faint scent of him. It anchored you, but also reminded you of everything you had lost and the risk of wanting him again.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands rested lightly on the wheel, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed how much he was holding in. You watched the way the dashboard light carved shadows across his face, how the storm reflected in his eyes, how close he seemed yet how far away.

Finally, his voice came, low and rough, carrying all the restraint he had been holding back.

“I came…” He paused, eyes fixed in front of him, his jaw tight. “…because I still care. Because I… miss you. Every damn second of every damn day.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening so sharply it almost hurt. You shook your head quickly, voice breaking as the words tumbled out.

 “Don’t say that…”

His gaze snapped to you then, sharp and burning in the dim light.

“Don’t say what? That I miss you like I’ve never missed anything in my life?” His voice cracked, low and rough, pulled straight from his chest. “Do you want me to lie to you? Pretend I haven’t been dying alive every passing second without you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, every syllable cutting straight through you. But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t tell me to bite my tongue when the truth is all I’ve got left,” he went on, breath ragged now, his hands flexing on the wheel. “I’ve been shot at, blown up, patched back together on a battlefield with nothing but grit and prayer… and none of that, none of it, ever came close to the bleeding pain you left behind.”

His words struck you like blows, relentless, unstoppable. His voice raw, his eyes locked on yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen in him before. His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. His eyes flicked to you, then away again, like looking at you hurt too much but not looking hurt worse.

“I’ve tried,” he said, softer now, but the words still cracked like breaking glass. “I’ve tried to forget you. Tried to bury you under work, under noise, under every distraction I could find. I’ve tried to be what you wanted me to be when you walked away. But every night, it’s the same. I still reach for my phone. I still half expect a message that never comes… until today.”

He swallowed hard, his knuckles white against the leather of the steering wheel. 

“Do you know what it’s like to miss someone so much you start thinking maybe it’d be easier not to breathe at all? That’s where I’ve been. That’s what I’ve been doing while you…”

His voice faltered, the anger giving way to something deeper, rawer. He drew in a sharp breath, eyes closing for a second. 

“You left me. And I still came.”

Something inside you snapped at that. Maybe it was the tremor in his voice, or the weight of his words pressing down on you, but suddenly your chest was full of something sharp and hot.

“Do you think it’s been easy for me?” you burst out, your own voice shaking now. “That I’ve just been… fine? That I haven’t been tearing myself apart too?”

His head turned slightly, his eyes widening just a fraction at the edge in your tone. But you couldn’t stop.

“You think I didn’t know?” you said, words spilling faster now. “That you started going out. Dating girls. Everyone tried not to tell me, but I knew it, Santi. And I…” You broke off, dragging a hand through your damp hair. “I thought you’d moved on so easily, while I was still… stuck. Still trying to remember how to breathe without you.”

You let out a short, harsh laugh, but it cracked on the way out.

“Do you even know why I went out tonight? Why was I on that date? It wasn’t because I was fine. It was because I was trying to prove something, to myself, to everyone, that I could move on, that my life could go on after you.”

You stared down at your hands, knuckles white where you clutched the hem of his hoodie.

 “And I failed. Miserably.”

You felt the sting of tears at the back of your eyes, but the most painful truth was still lodged in your throat. You forced it out, your voice barely above a whisper:

“I didn’t leave you because I didn’t love you anymore, Santi.” You stared at your lap, nails digging into your palms. “I left you because I loved you so much I couldn’t stand to tie you to someone as broken as me. Because I thought you would do better without me.” You finally glanced at him, eyes wet. “And you… you proved me right.”

The words fell like stones into the silence. For a moment, he didn’t speak. He just stared at you, utterly still, as if you had knocked the breath from his lungs.

His jaw flexed once. Twice. He looked like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t trust himself to move. His hands clenched against the steering wheel, knuckles white, his throat working as he swallowed something down.

Finally, his voice came, low and hoarse, not steady at all.

“Stop.” He said quietly. “Don’t… don’t you dare think that’s what happened.”

He turned fully toward you now, eyes dark, almost shining under the dashboard lights.

“You think I proved you right? That I was better without you? You have no idea. No idea what those nights were like. No idea how many times I almost drove to your door when you ignored my calls and text messages. No idea how hard I tried to pretend I was okay because that’s what you left me with.”

His fingers tightened around the wheel again, but he didn’t look away this time. 

“Those girls? They were noise. Distraction. Nothing. I was trying to drown you out of my head. And it didn’t work. It never worked. And you know why? Because they weren’t you. Because no one will ever be you.”

He exhaled sharply, a tremor running through his shoulders.

“I wasn’t better without you. I was just… without you.”

The last words came out quiet, almost breaking, like a confession he hadn’t planned to give. He stopped, but the silence didn’t hold. It cracked open. His hands left the wheel, falling to his thighs as if the weight of them had become too much. His head dropped forward for a heartbeat, curls falling into his eyes. When he looked back up at you, they were dark and wet, shining in the dim dashboard glow.

“I thought of you every night.” He said, his voice low and uneven. “Every. Single. Night. I’d wake up at three in the morning, reach for you, and my hand would find nothing but a cold sheet.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight. “I’d hear a song, see a street, smell your shampoo on somebody’s jacket… and it would tear me apart all over again. You weren’t gone for  me. You were everywhere.”

He laughed then, but it was a rough, broken sound.

“God, I even stopped shaving for a while because the mirror looked back at me like it didn't know the man staring anymore. I wasn’t living, I was… drifting. Waiting. For something that wasn’t fucking coming.”

His hands curled into fists on his knees. 

“Don’t you dare think I was fine, or that I wanted you gone. Don’t you dare think I ever wanted to move on from you. You’re…” His voice cracked, and he turned his head slightly, staring out into the rain-slick dark. “… you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted and been too afraid to lose. And I lost you anyway.”

You sat frozen, the hoodie clutched in your fists, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. Seeing him, Santi, who had always been grounded, steady, the one you had leaned on in chaos, like this was like watching a wall crumble brick by brick. His voice, the tremor in his hands, the glint of unshed tears in his eyes. All of it slammed into you.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times, but never like this. Never him unraveling in front of you. Never his voice breaking as he said the things you had both been too proud, too scared to say.

Your throat worked, but the words came out soft, ragged, almost a whisper. “Santi…”

His head lifted just slightly at the sound of his name from your lips. You drew in a sharp breath before you asked not in a defensive tone anymore, but with an honest vulnerability. 

“You really think it hasn’t been hell for me too?”

The question cracked between you like lightning.

“I really thought you’d be better off without me… freer, happier, lighter. And when I heard you were seeing other girls, I thought I was right. That you’d proved me right. And it killed me.”

Your throat tightened, but you forced the next words out. 

“That’s why I went out tonight. That’s why I tried. I needed to prove I could live without you, that my life didn’t have to orbit around you. That I could smile, laugh, pretend to be normal again.”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it cracked in your chest.

“And instead I ended up here. With you. Miserable. Because I failed. Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t outrun you. I can’t breathe without feeling you in my lungs. I can’t…” Your voice broke. “... I can’t let you go.”

The admission left you trembling, hollowed out. The storm battered the car, lightning flaring somewhere in the distance, but all you could hear was your own ragged breath and the pounding of your heart.

For a long moment, the two of you just sat there, broken confessions hanging in the air, the space between you tight with everything you had both tried to bury.

Then, slowly, his hand lifted from his lap. It hovered for a heartbeat longer, as though he was afraid you would vanish if he touched you. And then, finally, he closed the distance.

His palm came to your cheek, warm and rough, grounding you in a way nothing else could. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, and the simple contact undid you. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the tears you had been holding back finally slipped free, hot against his touch.

A small, broken sound escaped your throat, and he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your face. “No, don't…” he whispered, his voice soft.

Before you could say nothing, his lips found the trail of your tears, pressing gently against your damp skin. He kissed them away, slow and deliberate, as though each one mattered, as though erasing your pain and your doubts was the only thing he wanted in the world.

Your breath caught, your chest heaving under the weight of it, and then his mouth shifted, hovering for a trembling second over yours.

You opened your eyes just in time to see the storm in his. The grief, the longing, the love he hadn’t spoken until tonight.

And then, finally, he kissed you. And with it the world outside disappeared.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that asked for forgiveness or made promises. It was the kind of kiss that simply was. Two people colliding after too long apart, shattering and whole all at once.

At first, it was fragile, tentative, as if either of you might pull away. But then something broke open between you: months of restraint, of swallowed words, of aching loneliness, and the kiss deepened, hungry and trembling.

Santi’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your damp hair, pulling you closer like he couldn’t bear the thought of any distance left between you. You pressed against him, your fists bunching in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart under your palms.

The taste of him was rain and salt, familiar and devastating. Every movement of his mouth against yours felt like a memory crashing back. Laughter spilling across tangled sheets, whispered goodnights, the way he used to kiss you just like this, slow at first, then deeper, like he needed you to remember you belonged to each other.

A soft sound slipped from your throat, half-sob, half-sigh, and he swallowed it, tilting his head to kiss you harder, fiercer. His other hand found your waist, firm and desperate, anchoring you as though he was afraid you would vanish again if he let go.

You had thought you had forgotten this, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. But your body remembered. Your heart remembered.

When you finally broke the kiss for air, foreheads resting together, both of you were trembling. His breath came ragged against your lips, your tears still glistened on his skin.

“I missed you,” he breathed, his lips brushing your skin with every word.

Something inside you snapped at that. The words burned into you, soft and shattering all at once, and before you could think, you were kissing him again, harder this time. The tenderness shattered into urgency, months of aching poured into the way your mouth moved against his.

Santi groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and his grip on you tightened. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, pulling you closer across the console until there was barely any space left between you. His other hand cupped the back of your head, guiding you deeper into him as if he couldn’t get enough, as if he had been starving and you were the only thing that could keep him alive.

You gasped against his mouth when his teeth caught your bottom lip, and the sound made him kiss you harder, rougher, the heat of him overwhelming. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, holding on like you might drown if you let go.

The rain outside thrashed against the car, but inside it was only fire. His breath hot against your cheek, his hands urgent, the press of his body against yours making your pulse race. Every movement, every desperate kiss said what neither of you had been able to: I need you. I’ve always needed you.

When his lips finally tore from yours, they trailed down to your jaw, your throat, searing heat against your skin.

“Dios, I missed this,” he muttered against you, his voice wrecked, breathless. “I missed you.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer still. 

“Santi…” you whispered, the sound breaking into a gasp as his mouth found that spot just beneath your ear, the one he had never forgotten.

It felt like being consumed, undone, and remade all at once. Every kiss was both punishment and salvation, every touch a confession you couldn’t speak but couldn’t hold back. For the first time since you had left him, you weren’t running, weren’t pretending. You were right here, in his arms, and it felt inevitable.

With a breathless urgency, you shifted, fumbling awkwardly across the console until you were climbing into his lap, pressing yourself into the narrow space between him and the wheel. The move was messy, desperate, but his arms were instantly there, steadying you, pulling you against him as though you belonged there, had always belonged there.

The wheel dug into your lower back, almost painfully, and you let out a breathless laugh against his lips. “There’s… no room…”

A sound rumbled out of him, half growl, half laugh, and then he reached down with one hand, yanking the lever at his side. The seat slid back with a sudden rough jolt, the space opening just enough for you to straddle him properly. The motion made you both break the kiss for a split second, startled laughter tumbling out of your chest, his teeth flashing in the dim light before his mouth found yours again, hungrier now.

The laughter melted into heat, into breathless gasps as your hands cupped his face, then slid down to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. He groaned into your mouth, his hands splaying wide over your bare thighs, gripping tightly.

“God,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice hoarse and raw, the taste of rain and longing in his lips, the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin as he kissed you like a man starved. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you. Every night.”

Your breath hitched, your hips shifting instinctively against him, and the sharp intake of his breath made your whole body tremble, pressed against his, the thin barrier of fabric between you both unbearable. His hands slid higher along your thighs, gripping, exploring, trembling with a restraint that looked ready to snap at any second. The heat between you grew, every kiss deepening, every breath stolen.

When his lips tore from yours, they trailed down your jaw, along the line of your throat, searing a path that made your head tip back with a broken gasp. His breath was ragged against your skin, his voice hoarse, almost desperate.

“Let me…” His words caught, and he pressed his forehead to the hollow of your throat, inhaling you like he needed you in his lungs. “Please… let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

Your hips grinded again instinctively against him, and the rough groan that tore from his chest sent heat flooding through you. His hands slid beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingertips brushing against your bare skin, reverent and hungry all at once.

Santi’s grip tightened on your hips as he moved you against him, letting you feel how much his body had missed yours; the space too small, too confined, but somehow perfect because it was him, because it was you, because it was finally happening after all these months of torment.

He pulled back just long enough to look at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of hunger and something far deeper, rawer.

“I need you,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I’ve needed you every single day.”

His words hung in the air between you, jagged and holy: I need you. And before you could answer, you were already pulling at his shirt, tugging it up over his chest. He helped you, ripping it over his head with a rough motion, his hair falling into his eyes as he tossed it aside.

Your breath caught. He was the same and not the same. The lines of muscle, the scars etched across his skin, the familiar heat of his body pressed to yours. But there was something rawer now, older, heavier. The sight of him made your chest ache even as the hunger between your thighs grew sharp.

His hands slid under the hoodie you wore, his hoodie, and he lifted it, slow enough to feel every inch of you revealed beneath his touch. The fabric stuck slightly to your damp skin, and you raised your arms, letting him peel it away. For a moment, his gaze devoured you, his breath catching audibly.

“Dios,” he whispered, almost reverent, as he didn't fully believe you really were there with him, before his mouth crashed back onto yours.

The kiss was feverish, open-mouthed, his tongue finding yours with a desperation that left you gasping. You shifted in his lap, the hard press of him beneath you unmistakable, the seat creaking under the force of your movements.

Santi groaned against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist, sliding up the curve of your back. His thumbs brushed over the edge of your bra, and he hesitated only a second before you guided his hand higher, a silent permission. The sound he made when his palm cupped you, half relief, half hunger, went straight to your core.

Your hips rocked against him, instinctive, needy, and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, his forehead falling to your shoulder. 

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, voice strained, his breath hot against your skin.

You tilted his chin up with trembling fingers, meeting his dark eyes.

“Show me how you missed me,”you whispered, your voice rough with need.

That was all it took. His restraint shattered.

His mouth was everywhere. Your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast as he pushed your bra aside to taste you. You arched against him, a cry slipping past your lips. His hands roamed over you like a man starved, mapping familiar territory with the desperation of months denied. It was raw, breathless, messy, the way it always was with you two.Your own hands explored him in return, sliding over the hard planes of his chest, down his stomach, to the waistband of his sweatpants. Your fingers slipped under it, brushing against the heat of him. The hiss he let out was sharp, guttural, his hips jerking up involuntarily into your touch. His eyes squeezed shut, head falling back against the headrest as if even that slight contact undid him.

Your palm curled around him, stroking slowly, deliberately, savoring the way he trembled beneath you.

“Fuck, nena…” Santi groaned, his voice ragged, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it bordered on bruising. “You have no idea… no fucking idea… how many times I’ve dreamt of this. Of you.”

You leaned forward, nipping at his lower lip as your hand worked him, the thick length of him hardening fully under your touch.

“Then stop dreaming,” you whispered against his mouth.

He growled low in his chest, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, desperate and wild. With his other hand, he pushed his sweatpants down just enough, freeing himself. You gasped at the feel of him against your skin, hot and heavy, sliding against your inner thigh.

Your own hands fumbled at your underwear, urgency making you clumsy, until you were completely bare. He helped, tugging fabric aside with rough, impatient motions, cursing under his breath as though every second without him inside you was unbearable.

Then he guided you down onto him, slow but relentless, and the sound you made filled the car, low and helpless. He cursed again, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes fluttering shut as he sank deep into you.

“Dios, cariño…” he gasped, his hands gripping your hips as if to anchor himself. “You feel… fuck… you feel exactly the same. Better. God, I…” His words cut off in a groan as you rolled your hips, tightening around him.

The windows fogged instantly, the air heavy with your panting breaths, the slap of skin, the low groans torn from his chest. You moved against him with abandon, each thrust a release, a compensation for the time you had been apart.

He couldn’t stop touching you; your waist, your breasts, the curve of your ass… his hands restless, greedy, needing to rediscover every inch of you again. And his mouth never left yours for long, kissing you as though he might drown without it, whispering your name between moans.

“I missed you,” he kept saying, like a prayer, his voice breaking. “Every second, I swear. Every damn night you were in my head too.”

You clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as pleasure built hot and sharp inside you.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking. “Please, Santi… don’t stop.”

He moaned deep in his throat, his hips bucking up to meet yours as you sank into him, thrusting harder, faster, his hands guiding your movements until you both lost yourselves in the frantic rhythm. The car rocked with you, the storm outside matching the chaos within, until the edge came rushing, overwhelming.

You cried out his name as you shattered around him, your body convulsing, clinging to him like your life depended on it. The intensity stole the air from your lungs, your muscles tightening hard around him, pulling him deeper, claiming him.

He groaned loud at the feel of you coming undone, his hands bruising your hips as if to anchor himself. You felt the tremor in his body, the way his breath broke against your mouth. He was so close too.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, he buried his face against your neck with a ragged growl, his thrusts slowing but deepening, grinding into you with a deliberate, aching rhythm. Every nerve in you was still alight, hypersensitive from release, and his refusal to stop made you gasp, made your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Santi…” 

You whimpered, half-plea, half-warning.

“I can’t…” he choked out, his voice low, strained with control. “Not yet. I can’t let go, cariño. Not when I’ve got you again. I need more… I need all of you.”

You shuddered, your body caught between overstimulation and the molten heat sparking back to life under his pace. He was holding himself back with everything he had, you could feel it: the restraint in his muscles, the rough tremor of his breath, the way his jaw clenched against your shoulder.

And then, impossibly, you were rising again.

He caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugging gently as his hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you just enough to make you gasp. And then he pushed back up into you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your eyes flutter shut.

“Like this…” he murmured against your mouth, his voice a rasp. “I want to feel you take every bit of me. For every time I thought of you, every night I woke up reaching for you…”

You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tighter as you began to move with him again, this time slower, deeper, dragging the pleasure out until it bordered on pain. His hands guided you, but his eyes never left yours now, drinking you in like he couldn’t believe you were real.

He kissed you again. Slower, hotter, his tongue teasing yours as his hips rolled up into you, over and over, until you were moaning again into his mouth. You could feel him fully inside you, the stretch and heat making you tremble.

“Say it,” he growled softly against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin. “Say you missed me too.”

“I missed you…” you gasped, your nails dragging down his back, leaving marks on it. “God, Santi, I missed you so much…”

The sound he made at that was pure desperation. A broken, low moan as he thrust up into you harder, making the car creak under you both. His hands roamed, greedy, touching, kneading, leaving no space between you.

You were riding him now, rocking in his lap with an abandon you hadn’t allowed yourself in months, your forehead pressed to his, his breath mingling with yours as the rhythm built faster, harder, until your bodies were a single frantic pulse.

“Right here…” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “Stay with me… right here…”

You cried out his name, your body arching as another wave crashed over you, hotter and sharper than the first, dragging him with you until he swore against your mouth, shuddering violently as you came again, clutching to him like he was your lifeline.

That was his undoing.

“Fuuuck.” His voice cracked as he finally let himself go, driving into you hard, rough, desperate. His release tore through him with a guttural groan, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands gripping your hips so tight it bordered on pain as he spilled into you, shuddering with every pulse.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved. You both just clung to each other, trembling, broken open and put back together in the same heartbeat. The car was hot, fogged, slick with the smell of sweat and sex. Your cheek rested on his shoulder, your fingers still trembling as they threaded through his damp curls. His heart hammering against yours.

When you finally lifted your head, his eyes were already on you. Dark, wet, searching. Every nerve still hummed, your muscles weak, but you shifted instinctively, meaning to climb off his lap, to give yourself space to breathe.

But his hands clamped firmly on your hips, holding you in place.

“Don’t.” he murmured, his voice still wrecked and raw. His dark eyes lifted to yours, half-lidded, but blazing. 

“Stay right here.”

You blinked, chest still heaving. 

“Santi…”

He shook his head, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips, though it was strained by the remnants of his release. 

“You think I’m letting you go? After that? After months of…” His voice broke, and he pressed his mouth to your throat, sucking lightly at your damp skin. “No. Not yet. You don’t move.”

Heat flushed through you again, impossibly. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, and the sensation of him filling you even now made you shiver. He groaned low at the twitch of your body around him, his hands tightening on your waist.

“You feel too good,” he whispered roughly, dragging his nose up your jaw, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin. “I don’t care if I have to keep you like this all night.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, half from disbelief, half from the rush of want still simmering in your belly. 

“You’re impossible.”

He kissed you again then, quick and searing, like a spark to tinder, before pulling back just enough to look at you, the smirk softening into something far more tender.

“God, I love hearing you laugh again.”

Santi’s thumb traced along your jaw, slow and reverent now, his earlier smirk melting into something quieter.

“I mean it,” he whispered, his voice husky but steady. “I’d almost forgotten how much I needed that sound. How much I needed… you.”

“I didn’t want to call you tonight,” you admitted, your voice breaking at the edges. “I told myself I wouldn’t. But when it happened… when I didn’t know what else to do…” You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Even when I tried to convince myself you wouldn't answer, deep inside I knew you’d come.”

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing away the dampness there, tears or sweat, you weren’t even sure anymore. His gaze never wavered, deep and steady, the same way it had always been when the world felt like it was tilting.

“Of course I came,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a choice.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your forehead against his, that simple gesture grounding you.

“It feels wrong,” you whispered. “After all these months, after pushing you away… it feels wrong to need you this much again.”

“Wrong?” he echoed softly, shaking his head. His hand slid into your damp hair, holding you close. “No, mi vida. The only thing wrong was pretending we could live without each other.”

Your chest cracked open at that, a sob catching in your throat before you could stop it. He pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, like he could seal the break in you, and you let yourself lean into him fully. No defenses, just your hurt and your hope resting against his heartbeat.

Always on call for you.

Thanks for reading~

tags: @sidelit @berryispunk @severedbloodlines @beezusvreeland

He had known fear before.

He had tasted it in the metallic air before dawn, with a rifle pressed against his shoulder and his heartbeat loud enough to drown out reason. He had carried it through deserts that smelled of smoke and blood, tucked neatly between his ribs where no one could see it. Fear had always meant survival. It had sharp edges. It barked orders. It told him to keep moving.

But this fear arrived in the quiet.

In a bathroom with two pink lines. In trembling hands holding a pregnancy test. In the way she looked at him, eyes already shimmering with tears before she whispered, "Frankie..."

He forgot how to breathe.

A baby.

His baby.

For one impossible, breathtaking moment the whole world stopped spinning. He laughed first, then cried. Then laughed again because he couldn't believe both were happening at once.

He wrapped his arms around her so tightly he worried he might break her, burying his face against her shoulder while something ancient and gentle cracked open inside his chest.

"We're having a baby, mi amor."

The words never sounded real, no matter how many times he repeated them after.

And then came the real fear. 

Not the kind that came with helicopters or gunfire.

This one was crueler. Because bullets were honest. They came at you head-on. You could duck, fight back, pray your luck held out.

This? This asked him to trust the universe with two people he loved more than his own heartbeat.

He had never known love could make a man this terrified. From that day on, she hardly touched the ground. He carried the groceries before she even reached for them. Knelt to tie her shoes when her belly made it impossible. Rubbed aching feet that swore they were "fine." Learned how she liked her tea, how many pillows made her back hurt less, which side of the bed she slept best on now.

He kissed the stretch marks before they had even fully been visible. Cradled her bump every night and spoke to their unborn child, as if they already understood him.

Somewhere between assembling cribs and painting nursery walls and arguing over names they both secretly already loved Frankie stopped looking over his shoulder.

Stopped waiting for the next disaster. Stopped believing happiness was only ever borrowed. Because suddenly the future wasn't something to fear anymore.

It had a heartbeat.

And somehow, without taking a single breath, that tiny human had already rerouted the entire course of his life.

Then came the day. The longest day he'd ever lived.

Her hand nearly crushed every bone in his, he didn't care.

She cried. He cried. She screamed with all her might. He whispered every prayer he'd forgotten he knew. Bargaining with a God he didn’t even fully believe in.

"Please let her be okay."

Hours blurred into one endless torment.

Until a sharp and small cry filled the air. The kind of sound that split the universe clean in two. And then a nurse placed the tiniest person Frankie Morales had ever seen into his arms.

His entire world. Six pounds of miracle. Loved from the moment they hadn’t been more than two pink lines and a flicker on a screen.

He stared down at the tiny bundle in his arms, afraid to blink. 

And just like that the soldier was gone. 

Not erased. Just gently set down beside the man he'd become in one single breath. 

His knees nearly gave out, he laughed through tears that refused to stop falling. Not quiet ones he'd learned to hide. These came from somewhere so impossibly deep they felt older than language itself.

Relief, wonder and a gratitude so enormous he had no place inside himself to put it so it burst out of him and spilled over. 

He pressed the gentlest kisses against the baby's impossibly soft head of unruly curls, just like his own.

Then he looked at his girl. Exhausted, hair damp with sweat. Eyes heavy and still by far the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

More beautiful now, because she had done the impossible. She had carried their flesh made love beneath her heart and somehow brought it safely into his arms.

Finally he leaned down to her, kissing her hair again and again. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking beneath the weight of everything he couldn't possibly fit into two words.

She smiled that tired, crooked smile he'd fallen in love with years ago.

He thought he'd loved her then. But watching her become a mother rewrote every definition he'd ever had for love.

She hadn't just given him a child, she had given him tomorrow. 

And for the first time in a lifetime spent surviving Frankie wasn't fighting for another sunrise. He was living for every single one that came after.

thanks for reading 💌

moodboard done by my better half @rhapsodyofdarkness <3

main masterlist • ko-fi

It had been a horrible date.

You should’ve known the second the guy, Mark, only talked about crypto and how his parents had inherited money from some fucking oil empire. It became painfully obvious within the first ten minutes that he'd never had to worry about paying rent for his absurdly overpriced downtown apartment with its skyline view.

Unlike you.

Some months you stretched every single penny until it practically begged for mercy, just to make sure you made it to the next paycheck without surviving on instant noodles. There was no trust fund waiting in the wings. No wealthy parents. No safety net.

So it was safe to say your realities couldn't have been more different.

You tried to be polite, carrying the conversation where you could, but when he started talking about tennis lessons and the private coach he'd hired to improve his serve, your mind quietly checked out.

Instead, it wandered somewhere infinitely more familiar.

To Frankie.

You could picture him so vividly it almost hurt. His strong arm draped over the back of your chair, rolling those warm brown eyes so dramatically they'd practically disappear into his skull while muttering something about rich dudes being all talk and no action.

"Bet I could beat him at arm wrestling."

You'd ugly-snort into laughter, hiding your face against the broad shoulder straining beneath his well-worn denim shirt.

Frankie would grin. That crooked, impossibly boyish grin you loved so much. The one that somehow made you forget the man pushing forty. The one that softened the hard edges years of war, grief, and bad decisions had carved into him.

With terrifying clarity, it hit you just how much you missed him. He'd been away for weeks on another flying contract, and his absence had lodged itself somewhere uncomfortable between your ribs.

While Mark rambled on about God knew what, you reached for your phone beneath the table. Your last message still sat there.

You: Text me when you're back on homeland. Take care. ❤️

—

At least Mark paid.

Outside the restaurant, you exchanged an awkward hug before climbing into your ancient Honda Civic.

The second the driver's door shut, you sent him a polite text thanking him for the evening, telling him you didn't think you were compatible and blocked his number.

With a tired sigh, you pulled onto the road. Taylor Swift filled the car as The Prophecy echoed through the speakers. You really didn't know how you kept picking the wrong men. None of them ever sparked the kindling you kept hoping for. Most of them only managed to light every warning sign imaginable.

Your thoughts drifted aimlessly until your car answered with a horrible metallic groan.

"...No."

A plume of white smoke burst from beneath the hood.

"No, no, no—"

The engine sputtered violently as you barely managed to wrestle the Civic onto the gravel shoulder before it gave one final, pitiful cough and died.

"Shit!"

Your palm slammed against the steering wheel before the horn blared into the empty night and your head fell back against the seat.

Perfect.

It was pitch black. Nothing but distant city lights behind you. No road signs. No passing traffic. No anything.

Your eyes drifted toward the dashboard.

11:57 p.m.

Great.

Tow services weren't exactly eager to rescue people in the middle of nowhere after midnight. Even if they were you couldn't afford one. Your mind raced through every person you could possibly call when your phone suddenly lit up.

Francisco 💙 calling...

A laugh escaped you before you even answered.

"Heyyy, preciosa."

God, you'd missed that voice.

"How are you doing?"

Despite everything, you smiled. The real smile. The one that only ever seemed to belong to him.

"Hi, how was your flight back?"

He exhaled dramatically. "Had some turbulence. Sucked. But I landed in one piece, so..."

"Thank God."

A comfortable silence settled between you.

Then—

"You home?"

You shook your head before remembering he couldn't see it. "No, sir."

A sheepish pause. "Actually... I was on a date."

"...A date?" His voice flattened immediately. "With who?"

"His name's Mark. Rich crypto guy."

A sharp inhale crackled through the speaker. "Damn."

You couldn't help laughing.

"One of those again?"

"Don't get me started. It was horrible. You would've hated him. He even smelled expensive."

Frankie let out a low whistle. "One of those, huh? I really gotta start questioning your taste in men, preciosa."

You snorted. "Fair."

Silence lingered another moment.

"I..." You sighed. "Actually, my car broke down on the way home. I'm stranded."

Another beat.

"...You are what?"

"My Honda died somewhere off Highway 65."

"I managed to get onto the shoulder, but it just…quit."

"You in the car?"

"Yeah. But it won't start. And there's no point in calling a tow truck now."

"Why the hell would you call a tow truck?"

His answer came so quickly it almost overlapped yours.

"You call me."

"You literally just got home, Frankie."

"So what ?"

You heard keys jangling. A door opening. His footsteps already moving.

"Send me your location."

"Frankie...it's almost midnight."

"Exactly. And you're sitting alone on the side of a highway. I'll come get you and tomorrow morning Will and I'll come back for your Honda."

"No, it's okay. I don't want to cause any—"

"—unpleasantness?" Frankie actually scoffed. "The only unpleasant thing right now is you sitting alone in the dark."

His voice changed, dropped lower. Got firmer. It was his military tone. The one that left absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Send.Me.Your.Location."

You sank farther into your seat. "...Okay."

Your phone had, naturally, chosen tonight to hover at one percent. You hurriedly shared your location. The screen blinked once and then the call died.

"...Fuck."

The silence that followed somehow felt louder than before.

—

Without the distraction of your phone, the minutes crawled by. You tried not to think about every horror movie you'd ever seen that started with a broken-down car. Nervously, you nibbled at your thumb until finally a pair of familiar headlights cut through the darkness.

The engine had barely fallen silent before Frankie climbed out of his old truck—Betsy, as he lovingly called her.

With far more flourish than necessary, your car door swung open, letting in the cold night air. He leaned one arm against the frame, pointing at you.

"You okay?"

You nodded, only for your eyes to unexpectedly fill with tears of relief that blurred your vision.

"Did somebody stop?"

You shook your head. Only then did he visibly exhale.

"Dios mío... you scared me."

You let out a watery laugh. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

He immediately shook his head. "None of that."

His voice softened. "C'mon. Let's get you warm, hm?"

He helped you out of your car, walked around to grab your bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder with zero fucks given before tossing it onto the backseat of his truck.

Without really thinking, you folded into him while he held the passenger door open for you.

He was warm. Smelling faintly of sweat, gasoline, and the aftershave he always wore. His arms came around you without hesitation, secure and intimate, before he pressed a kiss into your hair. Your heart squeezed painfully inside your chest at that.

"Thank you," you could only murmur against his broad chest, the words muffled by his Henley.

"For what exactly?"

"For rescuing me. For..." You smiled to yourself. "Being you. For everything, I guess."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

You only shook your head against him, letting his warmth seep into every part of you.

It was the first time all day, honestly, the first time since he'd left that you felt completely at ease.

"Missed you," you admitted. 

You felt him smile against your hair. "That so?"

"Mhm."

A beat passed.

"Missed you too."

His arms tightened just a little, and you could've sworn his heartbeat picked up beneath your cheek.

—

Once you were settled in Betsy and the heater had begun chasing the chill from your bones, Frankie handed you a charging cable.

"So your phone doesn't die on me again."

Then a bottle of water, of course. Frankie the caretaker.

"I brought you something from the trip," he said after a few miles, eyes never leaving the road. "It's in the glove compartment."

You blinked at him. "You... brought me something?"

He shrugged.

"My birthday isn't until summer."

"Oh, I know."

Another shrug. "But I saw it and thought of you."

You smiled despite yourself before opening the compartment. A small bracelet slipped into your palm, decorated with tiny shells and beautiful blue stones that caught the dashboard lights. It was gorgeous.

"Frankie..."

You immediately fastened it around your wrist.

"I love it."

"Really?"

He finally glanced over for half a second.

"I wasn't sure. But the lady in the shop said it'd make a nice gift for someone special."

You looked up. "Someone special?"

He groaned. "Oh, please. Don't start."

A grin tugged at your lips. "Sorry, sorry. I'll behave."

He snorted, shaking his head as he looked back at the road. 

You absentmindedly turned the bracelet around your wrist with your thumb, watching the little blue stones catch the passing streetlights.

He'd seen it. Thought of you. Bought it without needing a reason or an occasion.

Your date hadn't even remembered that you didn’t like coffee. Frankie had crossed half the county in the middle of the night and somehow still found the time to bring you home a piece of the ocean.

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main masterlist • ko-fi

Your whole relationship with Frankie had been like chasing a storm from the beginning. Despite living in Florida, the sunniest place either of you had ever known, the rain always found you faster than you could prepare for it.

Some storms arrived quietly.

Others kicked the front door off its hinges.

This one had come in the shape of a tiny plastic bag tucked inside the pocket of his jeans.

***

Frankie was dead silent the whole drive. While the first traces of sunrise bled orange into the sky, turning it into something that looked like a watercolor painting, you couldn't bring yourself to appreciate it today. His knee bounced the entire drive, his foot tapping relentlessly against the floorboard. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat despite the air conditioning blasting at full volume.

"You know, you don't need to do this. You could just... drive home."

You shook your head immediately. "And then what?"

"I can do the rehab at home."

"Like the last time?"

He flinched at the memory, just a little.

"I don't do this to punish you, Francisco."

He scoffed, thumb rubbing over his bottom lip as he stared out the window, watching the landscape blur by.

"I don't see what's gonna be different there than when I lay in my own vomit at home."

"They're professionals, Frankie. You can talk to someone who can really hold you through this without falling apart alongside you."

"Mhm."

"Frankie..."

He shook his head. "Don't use that tone on me."

"Which tone?"

"The pity one."

"I don't—" You exhaled. "I'm sorry."

"'s okay." And he sounded honest. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"You're sick, Frankie. You didn't choose this."

"I am a fuck up, cariño."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You bit your lip before blindly reaching for his sweaty hand, squeezing it while keeping your eyes fixed on the road—even as your vision began to blur with uninvited tears.

"No, you're not. You survived things most people couldn't even imagine surviving. Somewhere along the way your brain found something that quieted all that noise, even if only for a little while. It may have chosen the wrong thing but that doesn't make you wrong. You're still you."

"What if this is all I'm gonna be now?" His voice barely rose above a whisper. "This washed-out version of me. I'm farther away from the man you fell in love with than ever..."

"Hey, hey," you reined him in gently. "No, that's not true. He's still in there. He just needs a little help finding his way back to shore, hm?"

You squeezed his hand again. "And there's nothing wrong with needing help sometimes. The strongest people do. And you, Frankie Morales, are one of the strongest people I've ever known. I'm so so proud of you."

You weren't able to look at him as the sun climbed higher, promising another day of scorching heat. But you heard a small, broken sound that sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Without thinking, you took the next exit, still twenty minutes away from the rehab center. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as you pulled onto the shoulder and finally looked at your boyfriend.

Despite his broad frame, he suddenly looked so unbearably small in the passenger seat of his own truck. He looked hollowed out by the weight he carried. By the guilt clawing at him for failing you. He looked lost.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned toward him, still holding his hand before pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

"Look at me," you pleaded.

He shook his head stubbornly. So you cupped his cheek with your free hand, gently guiding his face toward yours. His soulful dark eyes shimmered with tears, red-rimmed and exhausted. The sight hit you straight in the chest.

"How can you..." His voice cracked. "How can you still stay? Why didn't you just leave already?"

A watery smile tugged at your lips. "Because, unfortunately, I love you a shit ton."

A weak laugh escaped him before his face crumpled again. He took your hand between both of his and kissed it with all the devotion only he had ever shown you.

"I'm scared."

"I know you are."

You brushed your thumb across his cheek. "I am too."

Silence settled between you for a moment. "But I think we just need to do it anyway. Even if we do it scared."

He closed his eyes. "I can't do this for you. God, I wish I could." Your voice wavered. "But this is something you need to do for yourself. For the man you've always told me you want to be. Not only the one scarred by war and loss."

You rested your forehead against his. "And I believe in you."

A tear slipped down his cheek. 

"I'll always be here, rooting for you."

"You're truly too good for me, mi amor."

You smiled—a real one this time—and shrugged. "Maybe."

Another shrug. "Guess you're just a lucky bastard then."

"The luckiest on this fucking planet," he murmured.

Like magnets finding their opposite, you drifted toward one another. Your hand rested against the back of his neck, your thumb brushing behind his ear, tracing the small letter tattooed there for you. Matching the one you wore in the same place, even if you'd gotten yours weeks later. Your foreheads touched in a grounding gesture.

He let out one long, shaky breath. "I love you."

And you knew he meant it. God, he meant it with every bruised piece of his heart.

"I love you more," you whispered. "Always more."

You smiled through tears. "And now I'll drop you off for your very expensive extended holiday."

That earned you the smallest huff of laughter.

"I'll be right here picking you up when you're ready, okay?"

You felt his nod more than you saw it.

***

A few minutes later, you watched him disappear through the doors of the rehab center. Only then did you realize your hands were still gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt.

For a long moment, you couldn't make yourself put the truck into gear. Watching the biggest part of your heart walk away was hard. Trusting that he was walking toward himself again was harder.

The whole drive home you cried, singing along to your shared playlist between shaky breaths, selfishly wishing that, when all of this was over, you'd get the love of your life back whole instead of only living with the fragments addiction had left behind.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist • ko-fi