You had an arrangement of sorts with your best friend, Leon—an arrangement in that the two of you would occasionally get together and do things that friends don't normally do with each other. But, for all intents and purposes, the two of you were single—which meant that your friends would try and set you both up on dates with other people, not knowing about the fact that you and Leon were getting together right under their noses.

One summer, you take a trip with your friends to Barcelona for two weeks, to soak up some of that Spanish sun and get away from the stresses of life for a little while. Of course, this arrangement with Leon still persists while you're there—he's sneak into your room most nights, or you would go to his, and then the two of you would be separated by morning to not arouse suspicion about your illicit affairs.

On an early Spanish morning, you awoke to the sight of messed up sheets, clothes strewn over the floor and your skin covered in lovebites—obvious signs that Leon had spent the night with you.

When you heard a knock at your door, you already knew who it was, and a quick look through the peephole confirmed that Leon was leaning up against it, holding a pack of freshly cooked churros in one hand, and a rose in the other, a smirk adorning his features as his eyes flickered over you in your hotel bathrobe.

"Morning, sleepyhead," he croons, his deep baritone voice sending shivers down your spine as memories from the night before flash through you like a flood.