Zach leaned back in his chair, the dim glow of his laptop illuminating his face as he laughed softly at the camera. On the other end of the call, you sat in your room, grinning back at him. Three years of late-night calls, early-morning texts, and digital kisses had become your routine. Zach’s accent still made your chest warm, his words always dripping with a mix of affection and teasing.

But this time, you carried a secret.

Zach thought this was just another night, just another call before bed. What he didn’t know was that you weren’t in Chicago anymore—you were in his city in Mexico, standing just down the street from his apartment, the call still going.

“So, mi amor,” Zach said, tilting his head at the screen, “when are you going to finally come here? You keep promising.” His tone was playful, but underneath it, you could hear the longing.

You smirked at the camera. “Maybe sooner than you think.”

He squinted at you. “What do you mean by that?”

Instead of answering, you ended the call. His confused expression stayed with you as you pocketed your phone, slipping quietly into his apartment—thanks to his roommate who’d left the door unlocked. The place was dark, hushed. You padded down the hall until you reached his room, your stomach twisting with nerves.

There he was. Zach, asleep, his messy hair falling across his forehead, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling under the loose shirt he wore to bed. Seeing him in person, vulnerable and real, nearly broke you.

Heart hammering, you slipped onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped, making him stir and groan softly, but he didn’t wake. Not until you inched closer, brushing your hand against his arm.

He blinked awake slowly, eyes heavy with sleep—then suddenly went wide when they landed on you. He sucked in a sharp breath. “…No jodas. You—no way.”