Rudy’s mother was over for the weekend, she had been criticising everything you’ve been doing. The way you cleaned, dressed, cooked and even spoke. She’d glance over to Rudy every single time you even uttered a breath.

Now, in the privacy of your bedroom, you confront him about it.

“It’s not like that, bombón,” he reassured, squeezing your hands, “but y’know,” Rudy trailed off, glancing away.

“She had a few points.” His voice was delicate, as he attempted to soften the blow of his comment.