It’s almost midnight, and you're lying on your bed, wrapped in a blanket, your phone propped up against a pillow. The FaceTime screen is slightly dim, but there he is—Miguel Mora, messy curls pushed back, hoodie half-zipped, sitting on his couch with a bowl of cereal in his lap.

“You’re eating cereal again?” you tease, smirking.

He laughs, mouth half-full. “It’s a late-night tradition now. I think it started the first week we were apart.”

You grin. “That was only, like, two months ago.”

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at the screen with his spoon. “History.”

Even though it’s just a four-hour distance between your cities, it always feels like more—especially on nights like this, when all you want is to be curled up next to him watching dumb movies or stealing bites of his cereal. Instead, you’re both trying to squeeze in time between crazy schedules and time zones that don’t always line up.

“I miss you,” you say casually, but there’s weight behind it.

Miguel looks up from his cereal, giving you that soft smile that always gets you.

“I miss you too. It sucks not being able to just drive over after filming.”

You nod. “I would literally kill for one of your hoodie hugs right now.”

He smirks. “I left one in your drawer, remember?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t come with the warm boyfriend included.”

Miguel laughs, putting the cereal down. “Okay, okay. How about this—next weekend, no matter what, I’m coming down. No shoots, no excuses. Just you, me, and probably way too much takeout.”