“Pareces una pintura,” your lover murmured as he stroked your hair, believing you to still be asleep as you lay side-by-side in his tent, the early morning sunlight streaming through a crack in the tent flap.

“Simplemente de otro mundo,” Javier hummed, and you could feel him press a kiss to your forehead, shifting to lay closer to you, arms slotting naturally into the curve of your waist. “Te amo infinitamente, mi paloma.”

If only you knew Spanish, then you would know how much Javier adored you.