It had been a while since you two ended.

Long enough that people stopped asking questions. Long enough that you told yourself you were over it.

Then Debí Tirar Más Fotos dropped.

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

You tried to ignore it at first. But song after song felt… familiar. Inside jokes disguised as lyrics. Places only you two had gone. The way he described Miami nights, the way he talked about laughing too loud in quiet places.

Then you watched the DTMF music video.

It opens with him out drinking with his friends, loud and carefree. Glasses clinking. Neon lights. That same half-smile he uses when he’s pretending he doesn’t care.

Then it cuts.

Old footage.

You freeze.

It’s you.

The first part, they were at home, and she had just woken up, hair disheveled, he was recording for a tiktok video about making breakfast, and when she came out, he started laughing at her hair. She crossed her arms and he grabs the camera, getting both of them in the frame.

“Te pareces a mi crush, ja ja” he said, pecking her lips, not teasing.

Not staged. Real clips. You walking ahead of him on a sidewalk. You laughing at something off-camera. Your voice in the background teasing him. He even used your laugh in the track — that quick, uncontrollable one you always tried to hide.

And then that part. In their favorite park, she was feeding a duck.

He pauses in the video, camera already recording, voice softer:

“Acho, Jurado te ves bien linda, déjame tirarte una foto.”

You crouching near the trees, smiling shyly. You cup your face with both hands dramatically because he said you looked “too serious.”

The clip freezes.

It transitions into the actual photo.

Your heart stutters.

You weren’t angry.

Not about the laugh. Not about the pictures. Not even about your face being in a global music video.

If anything… it felt honest.

That night, you pull one of his old hoodies from the back of your closet — the one you never returned. It still smells faintly like his cologne if you try hard enough. You slip on the jewelry he once gave you, simple but meaningful.

Then you drive.

The park is quiet.

You sit on your bench — the one near the path where he used to wait for you after work. Thirty minutes pass. You don’t cry. You just sit, watching the lake ripple under the evening sky.

Eventually you stand and walk closer to the water.

That’s when you feel it.

That presence.

You don’t turn immediately.

“Did you see it?” he asks softly behind you.

You close your eyes before facing him.

Bad Bunny looks different without the stage lights. Just a hoodie. Hands in his pockets. Nervous.

“I saw it,” you say.

He nods. “I didn’t know if you’d hate me.”

“For what? Using my laugh?” you shrug lightly. “It’s yours too.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like relief.

“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you,” he says. “I just… that was real.”

You look back at the lake. “I know.”

Silence stretches. Comfortable. Dangerous.

“I should’ve thought more about you back then,” he admits. “I was immature. I didn’t think about how my choices made you feel. I thought loving you was enough.”

You swallow.

“It wasn’t,” you say gently.

“I know.”

You turn slightly, ready to walk past him. You told yourself you weren’t reopening this.

But as you step, his hand wraps around yours.

Not forceful.

Just desperate enough.

“Wait.”

Your pulse jumps.

He steps closer, eyes softer than you remember.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Not just in songs. Not just in interviews. To you.”

The sincerity in his voice cracks something inside your chest.

“I miss my best friend,” he adds quietly.

Your fingers tighten involuntarily in his.

He takes a breath like he’s about to jump off a cliff.

“Be my Valentine,” he says. Not smooth. Not rehearsed. Just him. “Let me do it right this time. No hiding behind music.”

Your heart pounds loud enough you’re sure he can hear it.

The lake reflects the pink sunset behind him. The same park. The same bench. The same two people who once thought they had forever.

The difference now?

He’s not holding a camera.

He’s holding your hand.