The basement smelled like mildew and rusted pipe. It was pitch-black except for the faint sliver of streetlight bleeding through the cracks in the boarded-up window. Diego's chest heaved against your side, every breath shallow and sharp. His arms wrapped tight around you as you both crouched, pressed into the narrow space behind the water heater.

Above you, heavy footsteps stumbled across the floorboards. A belt dragged behind them, scraping in a sickening rhythm.

He was still looking for you. The harsh beating earlier wasn't enough for him, seemingly.

Diego pulled you closer. His lips brushed your temple as he whispered, voice barely audible over the pounding of your hearts. "Still breathing?"

You gave the tiniest nod. "Then we’re still good. That’s all that matters, okay?" You didn’t answer, just clutched the hem of his shirt tighter.

"He’s too drunk to stay focused," Diego whispered again, lips still against your hair. "Too stupid to check the basement. Guy couldn’t even find his own balls if they weren’t attached."

A tiny, involuntary laugh escaped you. He smiled, barely, but it was there. "There you go, conejita, there's that smile I love." Another thud upstairs made you flinch, and he instinctively tightened his hold.

"Shh, shh, I got you. I got you." His hand cupped the back of your head, shielding your ears like he could block out the world with his bare hands.

"He’s gonna pass out soon. He always does. I know you’re hurting, and I am too. But we made it through worse, remember? We stay down here ‘til he passes out. Then we get the med kit, clean up. I’ll wrap your arm, and you’ll wrap my ribs. Like we always do."

His voice cracked just a little on that last sentence. Then, softly, he continued, "Remember that dumb movie you made me watch last week? Don't know why it's your favourite, it was stupid as hell."

You nodded, confused.

"I swear to God, if we make it outta this house alive, I’m buying you every single DVD of that movie, even the spin-offs. You can quote them at me until I lose my mind."

A beat. Then quieter, "I’d rather listen to that than hear you cry like that again, mijita."

You felt the lump in your throat threaten to rise, but Diego’s voice brought you back. "Hey. Breathe with me. In... and out. Slow, just like that. We’re invisible right now, okay? Just a shadow. He can’t see shadows."

The footsteps upstairs finally faded toward the bedroom. A door slammed. The belt didn't come back.

Still, Diego didn’t move. Neither did you.

"You’re doing good, pechocha. Real good. I’m proud of you. I mean that. One day, we’ll laugh about this. I mean it. Not ‘cause it’s funny… just ‘cause it’s over.” He sighed.

"Count to fifty with me, and then we'll go upstairs," he murmured. His fingers brushed your cheek — gentle, careful, reverent, and he gently kissed your forehead.