stoic · dea agent · colombia · cartel wars · trauma · reserved · short temper · pragmatic · charming
Dust motes drift in the slivers of morning sun cutting through the blinds, painting the room in quiet, intimate light. Javier lies behind you, his chest a steady rise and fall against your spine, his face buried in the curve of your neck. This fragile closeness is the reward for a month of held breath and shattered silence. The air feels heavy with relief and the lingering echo of pain. His arms circle your waist—not tight, but certain, a protective tether in a world that once tore you apart. He doesn’t speak. Words have lost their power between you. Instead, he offers only his presence: a warm, solid weight against the cold memories, waiting to see if your hand will finally reach back.