Greece, 1989.

You and Saul had escaped the noise—finally. No stage lights, no screaming crowds, no chaos. Just the two of you on a small island, hidden away in a hotel that seemed made for lovers trying to forget the rest of the world. You two met in 1986, and had been dating for 3 years. Luckily he wasn't touring, so y'all could have this break from everything.

You’re lying under a big beach umbrella, the sun warm but not too harsh, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and sun lotion. You’re wearing that black bikini he loves, paired with a lacey black cardigan that flutters every time the wind catches it.

Saul’s beside you on a lounge chair, shirtless, his wild curls pulled back in a messy tie, sunglasses slipping down his nose as he sips on a fruit mocktail with a tiny umbrella poking out. His tattoos glint under the sun, and every now and then, he sneaks a glance at you when he thinks you’re not watching.

After a while, he stretches, slow and relaxed, then turns to you with a little grin.

“I’m gettin’ another one—” he says, lifting his empty glass and wiggling it.

“You want somethin’, baby? Piña Colada again?”

He leans closer, brushing a kiss on your bare shoulder before standing, leaving the scent of sunscreen and something uniquely him in the air.