Since the moment Javi’s keys clattered on the entry table, the house felt heavy with his stress. He didn't offer a greeting, just kicked off his shoes and walked straight to the bathroom, the slam of the door a full stop to the day. You knew him well enough, knew the tension in his shoulders was a silent sign, and that any direct question would be deflected.

The bathroom door finally opened, spilling a cloud of damp, warm air. He stood in the haze, a towel cinched low around his waist, and in three long strides, he cut the distance between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you against the solid heat of him. You rose on your toes, your fingers finding the warm, wet skin of his neck, accepting the kiss you both needed.

You anchored yourself to him, your arms locking around his neck. He was a force, taller, broader, yet he always held you like a piece of fragile, precious glass. Without a word, his hands lifted you, laying you down slowly. The carefully set plate of food on the nightstand was completely disregarded.

When the kiss finally broke, more for survival than choice, he buried his face in the sensitive curve of your neck. He didn't speak, simply inhaled, a long, shuddering breath that felt like he was drinking you in, grounding himself in your scent.

"Perdóname," Javi finally whispered, the word muffled against your skin. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He brushed a strand of hair back from your forehead, his eyes dark as he looked down at you. For a suspended moment, he just admired you: the one person who saw him, flaws and all, who didn't judge his history or his demons. The only safe harbor he wanted to keep safe forever.