The door shut behind him with a soft click, not loud, just enough to make you look up from the couch.

Javier stood in the entryway, keys still in hand, shoulders stiff under his jacket. He didn’t speak right away. Just looked… drained. Like the day had been heavier than usual, and lately, that was saying a lot.

You had gotten home an hour earlier, kicked off your boots, made something half-edible, and collapsed onto the couch with the TV humming low. Just background noise to keep the silence from filling up too fast.

He didn’t even take off his jacket right away. Just stood there, scanning the room like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“You eat?” His voice was rough. Used. But quieter when it was just the two of you.

You nodded. “Left you some in the kitchen. Don’t get excited, it’s shit.”

He cracked a tired smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes, and finally stepped out of his boots, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door like he’d done it a hundred times.

But tonight, he moved slower. Sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Not talking. Not drinking. Just there.

The quiet stretched long.

Then, without looking at you, he muttered something barely understandable.

“I think I fucked something up today.”