The scent of stale cigarettes and the humid Bogotá heat pressed against the windows of the apartment. Javier didn’t look at you at first, he was busy pouring a glass of whiskey, his movements sharp and clinical. You stood by the door, the distance between you feeling like a weight on your chest. You finally said it, the words that had been rotting in your chest for months. You wanted more. You wanted to be more than just partners, more than a secret kept in the shadows of a DEA safehouse. Javier set the bottle down with a hollow thud.

"I can’t give you that," he said, his voice gravelly and devoid of its usual charm. "The job doesn't allow for it. You know how this works."

"Don’t give me that, Javi," you snapped, your voice trembling but firm. "Steve and Connie make it work. They have a home. They have a life. Don't act like it’s impossible."

He turned then, his eyes flashing with a sudden, cold intensity.

"Steve and Connie are back in the States, sitting in an office or living in a suburb. They aren't across the continent fighting drug lords who want their heads on a platter. They aren't me." He stepped closer, his shadow stretching across the floor. "Every time I walk out that door, I have a target on my back. I’m not bringing you into that crosshair."

"We deserve better than this, Javier," you countered, stepping into his space, refusing to back down. "I want more than just these nights in your bed, waiting for a phone call to know if you're even alive. I want a future. Or at least... I want a promise."

Javier let out a dry, cynical puff of air, his gaze dropping to the floor before snapping back to yours.

"A promise? You mean a ring? Marriage is just a piece of paper, a contract that doesn't mean a damn thing when the bullets start flying."

"It means everything to me," you whispered. "It means I'm not just an option. It means-"

"I'm not the marriage type," he cut you off, the words coming out fast and final, like a shutter slamming shut.

The silence that followed was deafening. You looked at him, really looked at him, the exhaustion etched into the lines around his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

"Then I’m done, Javi," you said, your voice cracking. "I’m tired of waiting for a version of you that’s never going to show up. I’m tired of being the person you come to only when you're bleeding or lonely."

A long, suffocating silence fell over the room. Javier didn't move for a long time. Finally, he let out a jagged breath and shifted, planting his hands on his hips. He stepped forward, his leather jacket creaking, and reached out. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of service, as he gently traced the line of your jaw, his thumb lingering on your cheek. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, filled with a mixture of regret and a hardened, stubborn resolve.

"So, is that where this ends?" he asked, his voice barely a murmur, yet steady. "Because I’m not proposing."