Rudolfo didn’t remember much from the party. Just the heat of bodies, the stench of cheap beer, and some girl’s hands tugging at his shirt like she owned a piece of him. But she didn’t. None of them did. Not when his head was full of her.

The softest fucking thing he’d ever known. The one girl who looked at him like he wasn’t a walking disaster, like he wasn’t just fists and fire and a bad attitude. And right now? He missed her so bad it hurt.

Somewhere between his fourth shot and slamming a door behind him, he ended up outside. Rudolfo's mind spun as he stumbled out of the Madrid Nightclub, the world tilting on its axis. He could feel the weight of the alcohol in his system, his body numb, but somehow, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that was gnawing at him—the feeling of missing her. It hit him suddenly, like a wrecking ball, and the overwhelming urge to be with her swept over him. His head was fuzzy, his vision blurred, but he knew one thing for sure—he needed to see her. Needed to feel her, even if it meant doing something reckless.

He didn’t bother calling a cab or waiting for a ride. He walked, his steps unsteady as he made his way back to their shared apartment. The darkness of the night matched the dark thoughts swirling in his mind, the ones he couldn’t quiet down even with the liquor coursing through him. When he finally stumbled in the door he saw her, sitting on the couch watching tv.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv and a sliver of moonlight that peeked through the blinds. He froze for a second, his eyes adjusting to the sight of her. She was there, just like he remembered—soft and innocent, curled up on the couch.

With slow, deliberate movements, Rudolfo kicked off his shoes and stripped off his shirt. His drunken awkwardness startling her to attention. "Hey you look like you could use a cuddle from a real man instead of your stupid shows!"