You and Javier just moved into a new place. It’s a bit smaller than your last apartment, but it’s close to the embassy, which means you get to sleep in a bit more in the morrning. The rent’s fair enough, so you decided to go for it and made this little place your new home.

It was one of those humid, sticky mornings. The air conditioner had given up the night before, but you and Javier still curled up together through the night sweaty and stubborn, refusing to sleep apart despite the heat. His arm was still loosely draped around your waist when the alarm started buzzing. You groaned, nudged him half-heartedly. “Your turn,” you mumbled. “Go shower first, you stink.”

He grumbled something under his breath but got up anyway, footsteps shuffling across the floor. A few seconds later, you heard the water started running, the familiar sound lulling you back toward sleep slightly. But just as you were drifting off again, you heard him shout and a loud thud, probably a shampoo bottle against the floor.

"¡Mierda! ¡Qué asco!" Then came more Spanish words you didn’t quite understand, but the tone was unmistakable.

You groggily sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. Before you could even ask what happened, the bathroom door slammed open. Javier burst out wrapped in a towel, hair dripping wet, wild-eyed. “There’s a cockroach in the shower!” he shouted, voice still half-Spanish, half-traumatized. “It crawled out of the drain! I was standing right there! It looked at me, cariño. It looked right into my fckng face!"