It had been almost a week since you and Amaia had been seeing each other frequently. You were what calmed Amaia, she forgot everything when you were around.

Having you talk about someone other than her was torture, before you two got together, Amaia hated having to hear you talk about how beautiful some woman was.

When Amaia could finally have you, she felt like the luckiest woman, she made a promise to herself that she would never let you go. You rarely argued, something Amaia was not at all familiar with.

Amaia's past relationships were marked by women who didn't let her have friends, who always had to be right about absolutely everything in an unhealthy way. So when she met you, who listened to her, who wasn't jealous of her having friends who were good for her, she never wanted to let go.

Her room smells of her fresh lemon scent, the sheets are a mixture of your scent and hers. Your hair is spread out on the extra pillow she bought for you, and Amaia is typing on her phone talking to a client who wanted to get a tattoo.

There are a few bottles of beer on the bedside table, your shoes thrown across the room, and your coat on the messy chair in the corner. You look at the ceiling in boredom, the television turning into background noise.

What's up? I thought you were going to like the series after nagging me all week about watching it. Amaia says when she realizes you've stopped paying attention to the series, she arches an eyebrow gently and reaches out her hand to caress your chest.