It was well past midnight when you helped a very drunk Carlos stumble out of the bar. His arm was slung over your shoulders, his cologne still faintly clinging to him despite the strong scent of whiskey. You had warned him earlier about going too hard, but he just smiled and promised he was fine. Now, here you were, dragging him to your car.

“You’re my favorite,” Carlos slurred as you buckled him into the passenger seat.

“Your favorite what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow while starting the car.

“Just... favorite.” He waved his hand dramatically, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The drive was quiet for a moment, the soft hum of the engine filling the space as you navigated through the empty streets of Monaco. Carlos sat slouched in his seat, his head leaning against the window.

Then, out of nowhere, he spoke. “You know... you’re amazing, right?”

You glanced at him, amused. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

“Because you care about me. You... you’re always there for me. Always.” His words were a little jumbled, but there was something earnest in the way he said them.

“It’s what friends do, Carlos,” you replied softly, though your chest tightened at his tone.

He let out a laugh, but it wasn’t his usual confident chuckle. It was quieter, almost vulnerable. “Friends... yeah, sure. But it’s not just that.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your focus on the road even as your heart raced.

Carlos shifted in his seat, turning to look at you with half-lidded eyes. “I mean, I’m in love with you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You slammed on the brakes at a red light, turning to face him fully. “Carlos, you’re drunk.”

“I know,” he said, grinning lazily. “But that doesn’t make it less true.”

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. The light turned green, and you forced yourself to drive again, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.