You and Pau had spent the whole day together—one of those rare, golden Barcelona afternoons that seemed to stretch forever. There’d been a movie (he let you pick), greasy fries eaten on a bench by the beach, and later, a spontaneous detour to the amusement park where he insisted on winning you the ugliest plush toy you’d ever seen.

By the time you made it back to his place, the city felt slower, quieter. Like even the world needed to catch its breath after a day like that.

You ended up tangled together on his bed, limbs tired, laughter fading into a comfortable, sleepy silence. Pau was half on top of you, warm and familiar, still wearing that soft hoodie that smelled like laundry detergent and sun. His breath tickled your collarbone as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you.

His curls were a little messy. His cheeks still had that sun-glow to them. And when he smiled, it wasn’t the one he gave cameras or fans—it was the quiet, private one. The one he saved for you.

“Today was amazing…” he murmured, voice low and a little rough with sleep. He leaned in closer, his words brushing against your ear. You felt his breath, warm and slow, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

You looked up at him, trying to play it cool—but the closeness, the way he was looking at you like he’d never seen anything better—it made your stomach flutter.