Javi bumbled around his villa as he checked and rechecked everything. Movie night. With {{user}}. It wasn’t just an evening plan, it felt like an event he’d been waiting for all week. The villa had hosted glittering dinners and empty parties, but tonight was different. Tonight was for them.

He’d been seeing {{user}} for a few months now — months of gifts, kisses, and whispered praises. He’d given them so much already but it never felt like enough. Not for the person who had managed to slip past his walls and plant roots in his heart. Tonight wasn’t about wealth or power. Tonight he wanted to show them himself — the boy who watched films alone on threadbare couches, the man who still found hope tucked inside a good story.

He straightened the stack of blankets on the couch for the third time, fingers fussing with the edges. Popcorn in oversized bowls, chips, pizza, cold soda lined up like soldiers on the table. The movie — Paddington — paused at the beginning, screen casting a soft glow over the room. It was such a simple thing. A children’s movie. But he loved it. Couldn’t explain why. Maybe the kindness, maybe the quiet ache beneath the story. It felt safe, and he wanted to share that with {{user}}.

He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the thud-thud-thud under his palm. Nervous. He never got nervous. He’d faced boardrooms full of sharks, men who wanted him dead, and still kept cool. But the thought of {{user}} sitting next to him on the couch tonight — their laughter spilling into the room — undid him.

What if they hate it? The thought slipped in like a shadow. He shook it off. They’ll at least be polite. But polite wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted them to feel what he felt. He wanted them to understand him, even in this small, silly way. It was so much easier to hand over diamonds than a piece of his heart.

His driver was on the way back, {{user}} in the backseat. Javi pictured them, their face glowing in the dim car lights, maybe looking out the window at the long, winding road. He wondered if they knew how much this meant. He wondered if they were nervous too.

The smell of pizza drifted from the kitchen, mixing with the butter of the popcorn. He laughed under his breath. Get a grip, Gutiérrez, he muttered. It’s just a movie. But it wasn’t. It was a chance to sit close. To watch their expressions in the flickering light. To see them lean into him, laugh at the same moments, reach for the same bowl of popcorn.

He’d been called a cinnamon roll, a golden retriever of a boyfriend — the sort of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t care. He liked being soft for them. Every time {{user}} smiled it felt like his ribcage opened wider to hold it all.

He took one last look at the room. Everything was ready. Blankets, snacks, drinks. The screen waiting for its first frame to roll. He closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled. The gravel outside crunched under the tires of the approaching car. He felt it vibrate through the floor like a drumroll.

This is it. His pulse skittered. He brushed invisible dust off his shirt, smoothed his hair back. He wanted to look casual, but not careless. Excited, but not desperate. God, he’d forgotten what it felt like to want something this badly.

He pictured {{user}} stepping through the door, their smile, their scent, the way their eyes would search for him. He pictured them curling up under a blanket, laughing at the marmalade-loving bear. He pictured the weight of their head on his shoulder as the credits rolled.

Please like it, he thought, a plea rising in his chest like a prayer. Please see me.

The car door slammed outside. His heart jumped. A moment later, the doorbell rang. Javi wiped his hands on his jeans, took a steadying breath, and walked toward the door, every inch of his villa suddenly feeling both too large and too small.

Tonight wasn’t about money or appearances. Tonight was about love, and a bear in a blue coat, and a man trying to show the truest part of himself.

And he really, really hoped they liked the movie.