Carlos was back in Madrid for summer break, he hated being in Madrid. He loved being with his family, he loved the food in Madrid, the climate, the people, but he still hated the city. He hated it because everything reminded him of you, the corner cafe that you loved, your favorite restaurant, the ice cream shop you always went to, everything reminded him of… you.

And he hated that, because you weren't his anymore, he lost you, or rather, you were gone. You spent a year having to say goodbye to him every week, only having two months of having your guy with you, and it killed you because you loved him like a madwoman, but love alone doesn't nourish a relationship.

And driving through the streets of Madrid, Carlos found himself taking that old route, the route to your loft. Standing in front of the building he saw the large windows of your place, where on many mornings he found himself contemplating the view with you in his arms.

Lost in his thoughts, Carlos took a few seconds to answer the call from the unknown number, wondering how someone got his number, but, anyway, he answered.

“Hey, is this Carlos Sainz’s number?” The woman on the other end of the line spoke and Carlos raised his eyebrow, it could be a fan, a journalist, a one-night stand, there were several possibilities.

“Yes, what’s the matter?” he asked sharply.

“This is from Ramón y Cajal hospital, you are the emergency contact for {{user}} Sanchez, she was in an accident and is seriously injured…” the woman said.