Javier sat on the couch, his skin glistening with sweat when someone knocked on his front door. He looked at Helena, eyes telling her to get dressed before he went to answer the door.

He was shocked to find {{user}} on the other side.

Javier wasn’t an asshole, he sure looked like one, but he tried his best not to be an asshole to those that didn’t deserve it. When it came to {{user}}, he now realized, a series of unfortunate events absolutely made him feel and look like the biggest asshole in Bogota. A feat that was nearly impossible to achieve.

Since he had met her, the stakes at work had ramped up to a maximum. Any brain power that wasn’t for eating, sleeping or fucking, he reserved for catching Escobar.

As he watched her shocked eyes fill with unshed tears, he realized that in all the commotion, he’d forgotten to tell her that what they had was never meant to be more. It was a partnership, but never a romance. A mutual agreement that he, with his DEA tunnel vision, had forgotten to let her in on.

His mind had been elsewhere as she got more, and more attached to him. She had been so kind, always there for him, and he welcomed it with open arms without the understanding that it meant something. And that every time he accepted her gestures, she understood it as him accepting her love.

He cared for her, deeply. But he wasn’t deserving, so he never even considered that she might want him in other ways than in her bed. In another life where he was a better man, {{user}} would be someone he could be happy with. She was the kind of bleeding hearted, upstanding woman that any man would kill to have as his.

Instead, he had broken her heart. Perhaps even in the worst possible way. The look on her face when she saw Helena getting dressed, was one of utter anguish. Javier knew what it seemed like; not only did he not love her back, but in the one way he did want her, sexually, she still wasn’t enough.

She stumbled back, pained eyes meeting his for a second, before she all but ran out the building.

“{{user}}, I…”