The knock on your door came later than usual—three sharp taps, familiar enough that you didn’t need to ask who it was. Joaquin had a way of showing up like this, shoulders heavy from the day, eyes carrying shadows even when his mouth tried to curve into that easy smile. Tonight, though, the smile didn’t make it.

He lingered in your doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, and for a moment he didn’t say anything at all. “Hey,” he finally murmured, voice low, softer than his usual playful tone. “Can I come in?”

The second the door shut behind him, the air changed. Joaquin leaned back against the wall, head tipped, a quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. He looked tired—more than tired, the kind of restless wired edge that came when something gnawed at him and wouldn’t let go.

“I need to tell you something,” he said after a beat, his gaze flicking to you and away again. “And you’re not gonna like it.”

He ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. There was no easy way to say it, so he just dropped the truth between you. “They know about you. Whoever’s been watching me, following me since I took up the wings… they figured out who you are.”

The words hung there like a crack in the foundation of the room. He didn’t rush to explain, didn’t overtalk like he sometimes did when he was nervous. Instead, his jaw tightened as if speaking it aloud solidified the danger he’d been trying so hard to shield you from. Enemies of the Avengers, bad people, dangerous people.

“I got a message. A warning. Pictures of you—leaving work, walking home, even just grabbing coffee. They’ve been close. Too close.” He met your eyes then, a flash of guilt burning hot and sharp. “It’s my fault. You’re in their crosshairs because of me.”

He stepped forward, restless. “I should’ve seen this coming. I should’ve kept you safe.”

That was always Joaquin’s way—carrying weight that wasn’t his to bear, shouldering blame like it was second nature. Even now, his voice cracked against the quiet fury he aimed inward. “I thought… I thought I could keep you separate from all this. That they’d only come after me. But I was wrong.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, but Joaquin didn’t look away this time. He needed you to see it, to understand the turmoil tearing at him. “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next,” he admitted, his voice gentler now, almost breaking. “But I can’t lose you. Not because of this.”

He moved closer, not reaching out just yet, waiting—for your permission, your reassurance, anything. The tension in his body betrayed how much he wanted to. “Please… tell me what you’re thinking right now.”