#hispanic

TOO many recordings. or, that is what it felt like as you waited outside the studio. well, saying that might’ve been a little dramatic, because it really wasn’t that bad getting to watch your boyfriend do what he loved! but, you certainly did not love sitting on a leather couch counting down each second until your boyfriend finished recordings,

so, every so often, you’d rise up to get a better look at his face, pure emotion flooding his expression. the passion he felt radiating off the walls and into your heart. benito never failed to make you proud.

but, now, even from where you’re sitting, (comfortably splayed across the couch) you can tell mr. bad bunny is frustrated with his music. unfortunately for all, the show must go on, he has to record again and he has to keep fixing his mistakes.

you could hear a faint spanish conversation to his producer, and the clink of his headphones being placed in their spot. then, the door opens and a sulky benito comes walking out.

“hola.” you calmly spoke.

“hola. estoy cansado.” he mumbled.

he then lowered himself next to you, reaching his arms out to bring you into his lap. you accepted his embrace, and swung your leg around his torso, bracketing his legs. then, you wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a soft kiss, melting him instantly. you leave a hand on his cheek, with your thumb tracing his lower lip.

“¿quieres hablar de ello?” you whispered to him, trying to lift his mood.

“no, ahora mismo no,” he replied, closing his eyes and leaning into your palm.

“solo quiero acostarme aquí por un minuto.” he breathed.

you gently rest your head on his shoulder, and rub reassuring patterns onto his back. slowly, his breathing evens and you can feel him falling asleep. a gentle snore reverberates through the small room. it feels like the true definition of peaceful.

until, that is, benito’s producer taps on the glass window. you glance backwards slowly in order to not wake your boyfriend. the producer mouths “cinco minutos.” and you give him a lazy nod.

you shift your arm from benito’s neck to have both palms on his face, gently lifting it from your shoulder. you rub your thumbs across his cheeks, his eyes softly flutter open. a lazy grin peeks its way onto his face as his arms snake around your hips.

“hora de levantarse.” you murmur lovingly.

a loud groan rumbles from inside him, “noo, un poco más, por favor.” a pouting lip juts itself outwards.

you sweetly tug at his curls, running your fingers through them. “lo siento, no es mi elección.” you reply as you carefully shift off of him, his grip on your waist sadly loosens. his face is decorated with an anguished expression.

“voy a terminar esto muy rápido, lo prometo.” he assures you.

moments like this reminded you how lucky you were. when the world got the perfectionist behind the mic, you got the man who just wanted to be with you.

seeing him happy again made you realize nothing else in the world really mattered. and being here, with him, made everything else fade away.

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