Javier and you were close—so close that he was always the first person you turned to when things fell apart. So, when you broke up with your boyfriend, as Javier had already predicted you would that night, you rushed to him without a second thought.

He was getting ready to go out, buttoning up his crisp white shirt, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. The sharp sound of his apartment’s doorbell cut through the quiet. He paused, flicking the cigarette off with a quick tap of his fingers before extinguishing it. Making his way to the door, he unlocked it and swung it open, only to find you standing there with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face.

His expression immediately softened, his gaze sweeping over you.

“Didn’t go well, I take it,” he said, his voice low and steady, taking in the sight of your trembling form.