Javier looked at you, confused, as you tried to ask him what he’d done with your shirt. You’d seen him washing it earlier, but it wasn’t where the clean clothes usually went. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have minded not knowing where it was, but that was your favourite shirt… and pretty expensive.

“No entiendo,” he said with a slight frown, only really understanding your tone. “¿Estás bien? ¿Hice algo mal?” Javier looked like a kicked puppy at that moment. Pathetic — in a cute way.

If only you knew Spanish, and if only he knew English. Curse the language barrier.