No way—it couldn’t be.

You tried again. The lighter refused to cooperate.

Damn... You sighed, the frustration spilling out as the unlit cigarette remained between your lips. Leaning your side against the terrace railing just outside the DEA headquarters, you exhaled slowly through your nose.

It had been one of those days—buried in paperwork, drowning in deadlines, and your nerves were stretched thin. All you needed was a smoke. But the damn lighter wouldn’t budge.

You didn’t even have time to pull the cigarette from your mouth before the sound of heavy footsteps reached your ears. Turning slightly, you caught sight of Javier stepping out of the building, a pack of cigarettes already in hand, pulled from the back pocket of his jeans.

Perfect timing.

You watched him light up, shielding the flame with one hand, the wind tugging faintly at his shirt. He walked toward you, slow and distracted, his eyes drifting lazily across the terrace like he was searching for ghosts or just pretending he wasn’t already watching you.

When he caught your eye, he lifted a hand in greeting, slipping the lighter back into his pocket.

He came to a stop beside you, leaning on the railing with the same ease. His eyes raked over you, pausing briefly on the cigarette still waiting between your fingers. And before you could say a word, he beat you to it.

“Mmh,” he murmured, stepping in close enough for you to catch the scent of tobacco and something faintly warm, like old cologne clinging to worn fabric. He tilted his chin, gesturing with a slow flick of his hand. “C’mon.”

You brought the cigarette to your lips. He leaned in, eyes steady, holding his own between his fingers. The tip of yours caught with the soft crackle of fire shared.