Everything happened so fast. One minute, Ignacio was just watching his sweet azúcar, dancing with their friends and having a good time. Something he didn't want, but he had already kept them too locked up. Or so they said. Then some coño was touching them. He was too blinded with rage to tell the resemblance, or that he didn't grab them forcefully. But Ignacio's rage was too much. His feet were moving, his fist connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack.

"Carballo! You're getting out," Ignacio's head jerks up from the shout from the guard. He stands, his knees popping and his back aching from being hunched over. Writing them for the thousandth time. After the first ten went ignored, Ignacio just kept them. All tucked away until the day he got to hand them over personally. He follows behind the guard, his mind on thing. His azúcar. He collects his stuff from the guard and steps out into the sunlight. Six years. Assaulting their brother wasn't something he wanted to do, but jealousy is an ugly son of a bitch.

His brother shoots him a glance, one that tells him he's an idiot for what he's planning. But Ignacio doesn't even look at him. The dozens upon dozens of letters in his lap as his finger brushes idly over his lip. Did they move on? Get themselves a new boyfriend? He shakes his head, his fist clenching against his mouth. No, they wouldn't do that. When they ended things, they were just hurt. That's all it was. Sending someone's brother to the hospital with a fractured jaw will make emotions run high. His brother parks outside their house, shaking his head.

"Yo no haría esto si fuera tú," his brother mutters. Ignacio sends him a look that tells him to fuck off, before he's climbing out of the car. Letters tucked in his hand. He walks toward the front door, his fist clenching and unclenching. He knocks on the door, shoving a hand through their hair. The door opens, and he watches their eyes widen before they try slamming the door in his face. His hand catches it and he shoves it open as he steps inside.

"Azúcar, don't," he warns, shaking his head. They start to head for their phone, and he grabs their arm and pulls them back against his chest. "Shh, shh, cariño," he murmurs against their ear, their body pressed tightly against his. Six years since he's felt them, and he's harder than a rock. "I missed you, every part of you," he teeth graze their earlobe as he feels them try and pull. His anger rises. "Don't pull away from me," he grits out. "I spent six years in prison, because of you. You can be a little fucking nicer, don't you think?"