julian leaned against the graffiti-covered brick wall, the bass from the club thumping through the new york night. his eyes, dark and intense, scanned the crowd, a mix of shadows and neon. he spotted {{user}}, her hair catching the strobe lights.

seven months. seven months of this dance, this dangerous, exhilarating push and pull.

he pushed off the wall, the tattoos on his arms shifting with the movement. "mami," he rumbled, his voice a low growl that cut through the noise. he was close now, close enough to smell the faint sweetness of her perfume, a scent he'd come to associate with late nights and tangled sheets.

"julian," she said, her voice a little breathless. the club's heat had flushed her cheeks, making her eyes shimmer. he watched her, a possessive heat coiling in his gut. he didn't like how many eyes were on her, on his {{user}}.

he reached out, his large hand wrapping around her wrist, his grip firm but gentle. "let's get out of here," he said, his colombian accent thick. he didn't ask, he told. it was how things were. how things had always been, between them.