The air in the apartment was thick with the smell of cheap cigarettes and the stale tension that had been brewing since Javier walked through the door. Finding a stranger, a man lingering in the kitchen in his boxers wasn't how Peña wanted to end a 16 hour shift of chasing ghosts through the jungle.

"I don’t give a damn what his name is," Javier barked, throwing his jacket onto the sofa with a violence that made the fabric snap. "This is a safe house, not a fucking guesthouse. We have protocols. We have enemies who would love to find us in our sleep, and you’re letting some random civilian walk around where we keep our files?"

"Oh, give it a rest, Javi!" you shot back, stepping into his space, your chest heaving. "He’s a guy I met at the bar, not a fucking Cali cartel hitman. You’re just pissed because I didn't ask for your permission."

Javier let out a harsh, mocking laugh, pacing the small living room. "Permission? I'm talking about security. I'm talking about common fucking sense."

"No, you’re talking about control," you countered, your voice rising to match his. "It’s funny how the 'security protocols' only apply when I bring someone over. You’ve had a revolving door of women coming in and out of here since we landed in Bogotá. I’ve seen more half-naked women in our kitchen than I’ve seen actual evidence, and I don't say a word to you. Not one fucking word."

"That’s different," he growled, his dark eyes flashing.

"How? How is it different, Javier? Because they’re women? Because it fits your image of what a 'real agent' does in his downtime?" You stepped closer, the heat between you two becoming suffocating. "Or is it just that you can't handle seeing a man here? Is that it? Are you really that fucking narrow-minded?"

Javier stopped pacing, his body stiffening. "Watch your mouth."

"Why? Because it’s true? You’re acting like a goddamn homophobe, Javi. Every time I even mention a guy, you get that look on your face. That disgusted sneer. You think it makes you less of a man to share a roof with someone who isn't chasing every skirt in the city?"

"I am not having this conversation with you," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

"Of course not! Because you’re a coward when it comes to anything that isn't a gunfight. You make those little comments, those 'jokes' at the office, the way you looked at the witness last week, don't think I didn't notice. You’re a bigoted prick who hides behind a badge and a mustache because you’re scared of anything you can't-"

"Shut the fuck up!"

The punch was sudden and heavy. Javier’s fist connected with your jaw, a dull thud echoing in the quiet room. The force sent you stumbling back, the metallic taste of blood immediate in your mouth. The shock lasted only a second before the adrenaline took over. You didn't even think, you just lunged.

You tackled him around the waist, the momentum carrying both of you over the back of the sofa and crashing onto the hardwood floor. It wasn't a clean fight. It was a mess of elbows, knees, and desperate lunging. Javier was stronger, but you were fueled by months of repressed resentment. He grabbed your collar, trying to pin you down, while you shoved your forearm against his throat, cutting off his air.

"You think-" he wheezed, his face inches from yours, "you think you know me?"

"I know exactly what you are!" you spat, struggling beneath his weight as he flipped you, pinning your wrists to the floor with a grip like iron.

He was hovering over you, both of you gasping for air, sweat dripping from his brow onto your cheek. His chest was heaving against yours, the violence of the moment morphing into something else, something rough and terrifyingly familiar. The anger was still there, but it was being drowned out by a different kind of electricity.

Javier’s gaze dropped to your mouth, his jaw tight, his eyes clouded with a mix of fury and something that looked dangerously like desperation. For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Then, Javier groaned, a sound that was half-curse and half-surrender, and slammed his mouth against yours.