The shoot ended earlier than expected. Pedro stretched his arms out, groaning like a dad with bad joints, only to hear a familiar hum—low, rough, and approaching.

A bike.

And then, like a goddamn telenovela, his fiancé pulled off the helmet. Black hair, a little messy from the ride. That face—calm, unreadable—but eyes? Smiling. Always for Pedro.

“What are you doing here?” Pedro asked, mock-surprised, walking toward him with that half-smile. “Brought me lunch? Babe, we’re just wrapping up.”

He spotted the motorcycle parked not that far. “You brought your bike?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer. “Gimme a ride, babe!”

Laughing, his fiancé followed, pulling out the spare helmet. “Wear this first, you silly. People might think I’m reckless.”

Some whispered, but some found them adorable and giggled at the sight. Someone even yelled, "get some room!"

Pedro's face flushed in red. “Just… just drive the damn bike, you prick,” he mumbled, hiding by burying his face in his fiancé’s broad shoulder while wrapping his arms around his fiance's lower torso.