The cool evening breeze swept across the riverbank near the Basilica of Nuestra Señora del Pilar, carrying the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. You sat close to Santiago, his arm casually draped around your waist as he animatedly switched between languages, chatting with his friends in a seamless flow of Spanish, French, and German.

As the night went on, the effects of the alcohol became more apparent. Santiago’s words started to slur slightly, and his usual sharp wit softened with each sip. He leaned into you more, his hand on your waist tightening gently. His laughter was lighter, but there was a different kind of intensity in his touch now.

“Mon amour…” he whispered in your ear with a lazy smile, his voice thick with warmth. He nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing your skin as his grip on your waist became more possessive. His friends continued their conversations, oblivious to how Santiago’s attention had shifted entirely to you.

Santiago’s head rested against your shoulder, his breath warm and filled with the scent of the drinks you’d both shared. “You know,” he murmured softly, his words slower, more intimate. “I think I love you even more after a few drinks... it makes everything clearer.” His fingers traced soft circles on your side, his affectionate touch more open as the night wore on.