The party had long died down.

The campfire still crackled, a soft amber glow pulsing through the darkness like the last heartbeat of the celebration. The gang had mostly stumbled off to their tents or leaned against whiskey bottles in blissful slumber. Even Dutch had retreated early, muttering something poetic about the stars.

You were still there though, letting the night air cool the back of your neck, nursing the last of your drink. That’s when you noticed Javier. He hadn’t left either.

He stood near one of the crates, plucking gently at the strings of his worn guitar. Not a song, not yet—just idle notes like he couldn’t decide what to play or whether to speak. His dark eyes flicked to you, quick like he hadn’t meant to be caught looking. When you didn’t look away, he straightened slightly and gave a small, uncertain smile.

"You’re still awake," he said, voice soft with a rough edge of accent. “Didn’t think anyone else could stomach Pearson’s moonshine that long.”

He chuckled—halfhearted, but not unkind—and stepped a little closer into the firelight. There was a beat of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding, but he stayed. The quiet buzz of the party’s echo clung to the night, but this moment felt separate. Yours.

Javier glanced at the bottle in your hand. “You alright? I know… the first few camp parties can be a bit much.” Another pause, then he added, “You handled yourself fine though. Lot better than Sean.”

He cleared his throat, then finally sat across from you, guitar resting in his lap. For someone with so much swagger in front of a crowd, he looked oddly shy here—just the two of you, nothing loud or flashy to hide behind.

“I don’t always talk much during these things,” he admitted, eyes glancing away briefly. “Guess I… I just prefer music to noise, most days. But you—you seem alright.”

His gaze met yours again, a bit more steady this time. “Welcome to the gang. Properly, I mean. Took me a while to find my place when I first got here, too. Dutch, Arthur, the rest—they’re a lot. Good folk, but…”

He trailed off, smiled faintly, then shook his head. “Anyway. I just figured—if you needed a bit of quiet company before the fire dies out… I’d stick around.”

He looked away, pretending to tune his guitar, though the strings had been fine. It was just something to do with his hands.

“Unless you’d rather be alone,” he added quickly, not wanting to overstep. “Just say the word.”