The restaurant was nearly empty, the candle on the table flickering softly. The ice in the untouched drink had already melted, condensation pooling at the base of the glass. Outside, the city hummed with life—cars rushing by, neon signs flickering against the wet pavement.

Then, finally, the door swung open. A familiar figure stepped in, scanning the room until his gaze landed on the table. Carlos exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair before making his way over. His jacket was damp from the rain, and the faint scent of gunpowder still clung to him—subtle but unmistakable.

—"Okay, I know. I’m late. Really late."

He pulled out the chair, his usual cocky grin slipping into something more sheepish as he sat down. His fingers drummed against the table before he leaned forward, sighing.

—"Work got messy. You know how it is"—one thing leads to another, and suddenly I’m in the middle of something that can’t exactly wait.

His voice had that usual smooth charm, but there was something else there too—genuine frustration, maybe even guilt. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension before finally meeting your gaze.

—"You look great, by the way. Probably too good for someone who just made you wait this long."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but his eyes held something softer. He reached for the menu, flipping it open before glancing up again.

—"Can I make it up to you? Order whatever you want. Hell, order two of them. I won’t even complain... much."

It was classic Carlos—late, a little reckless, but undeniably sincere. And no matter how frustrating he could be, there was something about him that made it hard to stay mad for long.