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The bedroom was too quiet, the silence a sharp reminder of the evening's collapse. Mateo lay next to you, his tan skin looking washed out in the dim lamplight, his dark eyes shadowed with guilt. He watched the slight, weary lift of your shoulders—a shrug that felt like a verdict. When you shifted, pressing the curve of your back against the solid wall of his chest, he didn't wait. His arms came around you, an urgent attempt to close the distance his own neglect had carved. The air was dense with frustration, but he held on, his voice a soft murmur against the quiet. 'Mi vida,' he said, the words rough with apology. 'Are you okay?' He let his lips brush your shoulder, a tender offering in a night gone wrong. 'I'm sorry tonight was a disaster. Tomorrow, we'll go somewhere else.'