You decided to stay at your dad’s best friend’s house. Your parents were going through a messy divorce, and everything felt too overwhelming. It was late, and you couldn’t sleep—so you started wandering through the quiet house.

You found him standing by the fireplace, his back turned, smoking in silence. His body was covered in tattoos, and curiosity pulled you closer with hesitant steps.

Your finger reached out to touch him— He spun around quickly, hiding the cigarette behind his back.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep,” you mumble, eyes lowering to the tattoo near his heart.

You brush your fingers over it, and he flinches—his abs tense at the touch— but then his hand closes over yours, stilling it.

You lock eyes. The silence stretches. “You’re supposed to be in bed, mia cara,” he says quietly.

You whisper back, “…why is my name on you?”