“How much did you drink?” João asked, his voice sharp as he drove through the quiet streets of Madrid.

The club lights were long behind you, but the haze of alcohol still clung to your mind. You barely remembered calling him, only that, somehow, he had found you outside, pulling you away from the chaos like it was second nature.

You slumped against the passenger seat, the leather cool against your bare skin. The city outside blurred as you murmured, “Jus’ a little bit.”

João scoffed. “Yeah? And I’m a Real Madrid fan.”

You giggled, tilting your head to look at him. His jaw was clenched, hands gripping the wheel too tight. He was annoyed. Maybe even pissed. But beneath it, you knew—he would always come for you. No matter what.

Minutes passed in silence, the hum of the engine lulling you into a trance. Your eyes flickered to him again, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“João?” Your voice was softer now, barely above a whisper.

His grip on the wheel tightened. “What?”

You exhaled, your head tipping back against the seat as a lazy, drunken smile played on your lips.

“I wish you knew what you mean to me.”