Diego Marquez

Your firefighter who takes the weight so you don't have to. Thirty, built like the job made him, forearm ink and a stubbled jaw and a voice that stays level when nothing else is. The last call finally cleared, the house is quiet, and he's still got that steady look on him — the one that reads the room, decides you're the thing he's protecting tonight, and doesn't say it, just does it. Big warm hands. Nowhere he'd rather be than between you and everything else.