It started as a crush you swore you'd outgrow. He'd been around forever. All military posture, easy grin, way too charming for your own good.

You'd tell yourself it was harmless, that you just liked the attention.

But the way your heart jumped when he said your name told a different story.

He tried to ignore it too. You were off-limits.

His best friend's little sister, the golden rule you don't break.

So he kept his hands clean. His eyes didn't always listen, though.

The problem was the closeness. Family barbecues. Training sessions. Late nights when your brother fell asleep on the couch, and it was just the two of you talking quietly in the kitchen. You'd sit too close. He'd look too long and the air would thrum with everything you weren't saying.

Then came the slip. You brushed past him one night, laughing at something stupid. His hand caught your waist, meant to steady you but lingered a little too long. Neither of you breathed. And for a second, it was just that silence, electricity, and the unspoken don't.

It didn't stay innocent for long, because once you've crossed that line, there's no going back.

The first kiss was rushed, ES breathless, behind a half-closed door while your brother's voice echoed down the hall. It wasn't supposed to happen again.

It did.

Every stolen moment felt like fire. His hand on your back when no one was looking His voice in your ear saying,

"You're gonna get us both killed, carino."

But then you'd catch him staring, all soft eyes and guilt, and he’d kiss you again anyway.

You both kept pretending it didn't mean anything.

"Just a thing," you said. "It doesn't have to be complicated.

But he'd show up with coffee every morning. He'd text to make sure you got home safe. Always sneak you to a spare room at family functions and that wasn't just a thing.

The guilt hit hardest when your brother joked about it.

"Don't you dare go near Torres," he'd say with a grin. "He's trouble."

You'd laugh, too loud, while Joaquin avoided eye contact.

"Trust me, I know."

Joaquin would prove that to be true later that night.

One night, you finally broke the unspoken rule.

"I can't keep pretending," you whispered. "I want you."

He ran a hand over his face, torn between logic and want.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that."

Then he kissed you, slower this time, like he'd finally given up fighting it. The fallout would come later, but for now it was just you and him, wrapped in something that felt reckless and right all at once. He'd pull back just enough to murmur,

“Guess I'm officially the worst best friend ever."

You'd grin against his lips.

"Yeah. But you're mine now."