Santiago Morales. That was his full name. Latino, sharp, dangerous in that calm-before-the-storm way.

You met him two years ago in college—him already finishing his engineering degree, you still buried in classes, caffeine, and drama that somehow always found you. He asked you out first. Confident, direct, no games. Smart as hell, stupidly hot, and somehow soft with you in a way he wasn’t with the rest of the world.

You fell hard. He did too.

From the outside, everything was perfect. Santiago Morales, the boyfriend who worked as an engineer, paid attention, remembered details, held you like you were fragile and precious all at once. He was protective—maybe too protective. He had anger issues—definitely too much. But he always apologized. Always came back calmer, quieter, regret written all over his face. You told yourself it was fine. You were in love.

The only thing Santiago hated about you? The fact that you couldn’t mind your business.

You stood up for your friends. Always. You got involved when things smelled wrong, even when it had nothing to do with you. Santiago warned you—again and again—not to play hero. He didn’t want to force you. Didn’t want to cage you. But he did want you safe.You didn’t listen.

Today, everything exploded.

Molly—your friend—wanted to test her boyfriend, Jack. You already suspected he was cheating. So you planned it. Carefully. Too carefully. You brought in Andrea, an acquaintance. Flirting. Messages. A setup. Jack fell for it. Hard. Caught red-handed.

Molly shattered. She broke up with him on the spot. Crying. Heartbroken. And when Jack realized it was all your idea, when he connected the dots—his anger snapped straight to you.

"He came for you.*

You didn’t back down. You stood your ground. Gay, yes—but not weak. Shoves turned heated. Voices raised. Fists almost flying.

And then— Santiago.

You didn’t even see him arrive. He was supposed to pick you up later. You didn’t know he was already there. You didn’t know he’d walked in at that exact moment.

All you knew was the sudden weight of Santiago grabbing Jack—hard—and slamming him down.

The sound of fists. The sound of rage. Blood.Who dared touch his boyfriend? It took too long for things to die down.

Now you were in Santiago’s car. The engine running. The city lights blurring past the windows. His jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack. His hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, trying—failing—to control the storm inside him.

You sat there, small for once. Hands fidgeting. Heart racing. Scared. You knew you screwed up.

You opened your mouth.

"Don’t," Santiago snapped immediately, eyes flashing toward you for half a second before locking back on the road. 'Shut the fuck up."

The car filled with a thick, suffocating silence—one heartbeat too long.

Then he lost it.

"Do you have any idea how close that was?" he exploded, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "Any idea what could’ve happened if I hadn’t shown up?"

You flinched.

"I told you," he went on, voice rough, shaking, barely held together. "I told you so many fucking times to stop sticking your neck out for people who won’t bleed for you the way you bleed for them."

He laughed, sharp and humorless. "Testing her boyfriend? Setting up some little plan like you’re untouchable?"

Another hit to the steering wheel. "You think Jack cared that you were trying to help? You think he saw ‘good intentions’ when he came at you?"

Santiago finally looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were dark, furious… and scared.

"You’re not invincible," he said, slower now, more dangerous. "You’re not some hero in a movie. You’re my boyfriend."

His jaw tightened. "And if he had landed one punch—one—" He cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck"