The saloon was full of noise, but in your little corner, it was just you and Javier. The clink of glasses and the muffled chatter of rowdy patrons seemed to fade away as you focused on him. He sat across from you, his whiskey half-empty, the cigar in his hand casting a faint glow in the dim light. His usual bravado, the quick-witted smirks, and the playful teasing that defined him were absent tonight. Instead, there was a calmness about him, a quiet that seemed almost too soft for someone who lived as loudly as he did. You couldn’t help but study him—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his fingers gripped the cigar with practiced ease, and the subtle flick of his eyes toward you when he thought you weren’t looking.

As the minutes passed in comfortable silence, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away. There was something different in the way he held himself tonight—less guarded, more… vulnerable.

Then, without warning, he sighed, the sound barely audible above the din, and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low murmur that only you could hear.

— “You ever wonder what it would be like if we didn’t keep pretending we’re just passing through?”

His words hung in the air, like a confession he hadn’t meant to make, but was finally willing to share.

The question caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat. You could feel the weight of it, the quiet intensity behind his words. For a moment, you couldn’t speak—unsure of how to respond or if you even wanted to. Your pulse quickened, not from the whiskey you’d had, but from the sudden shift in the air between you. The saloon felt miles away as you stared at him, the glow of his cigar reflecting in his eyes, waiting for you to answer.