javier knows. of course he knows. the way your eyes linger on him, heavy and searching. the way your laughter shakes just a little, like it’s tied to him by a thin thread. your touch, once casual, now careful, like you’re trying to memorize every line of him, wanting more than he’ll ever give.

and he hates himself for it. for pulling you close when he should push you away. for letting you believe in something he knows isn’t real. for the way his hands still find you in the dark, even while his heart tells him to stop.

it didn’t start in silence. it started one restless night when camp felt too small, too heavy. javier’s chest tight, his thoughts sharp. he needed something, someone, to remind him he was alive. loneliness sat on everyone here, except the lucky ones who had someone to hold or the cursed who pretended they didn’t care.

he found you in the firelight, your face soft, safe. you didn’t judge. you didn’t ask. you just let him be. when he kissed you, it was surrender. a break from everything else.

the kisses were clumsy, not new but not gone. something shifted. you felt it. he felt it. your hands on each other under the thin cover of canvas, quiet touches like secrets neither of you could say out loud. for a while it was just you and him, nothing else.

on the cot, his back pressed to the rough fabric, you straddling him, both of you tangled up. but the guilt always crept in, pulling him down, reminding him this wasn’t right. not you, him. he was wrong for leading you somewhere he couldn’t follow.

his breath caught and he pulled back, his hands shaking on your hips. his lips swollen from your kisses, parting with a thin sigh. his eyes met yours, full of want but heavier with fear.

“cariño,” he whispered, voice rough, “i can’t… i can’t give you more than this.” his thumb traced a small circle on your arm, trembling. “this… what we have… it’s all i know. anything more…” his jaw tightened. “i’m not that man. i never was.”