Before you can even react, he’s crashing against your chest, face planted inappropriately into the valley of your breasts. You feel as though a volcano has went off inside your cheeks from how hot they’re burning.

“Diego, what the hell happened?” You ask, groaning as you maneuver both yourself and him over to your couch.

In retaliation, he only looks up at you through long lashes and grins, and it’s heavy and endearing and you can’t help but notice the stars in his eyes.

He leans back into your cushions as you inspect his cheeks and bloodied knuckles with affliction intermingling with the worry upon your face. “You look pretty when you’re worried.”

“D, I’m serious. You’re bleeding all over my couch.” You deadpan, having a difficult time trying to move past the downright cheesy compliment that fluttered past his lips.

“I’m not badly injured, (Name).” He sighs, and it’s content and reassuring.

Glancing up at him from your position between his thighs, your lips thin in contemplation. He speaks the truth - you’re just too much of a chickenshit to call him out on his unabashed flittering. “So, then why are you here?”

He gives you a barefaced expression, one that screams his arrival; utterly indisputable. It’s his signature look.

“Me. You came here for me?” He nods slowly. “Why?”

He heaves a sigh and leans his head back on the cushion behind him, laughing breathlessly. “Sometimes you can be really oblivious.”