The faint glow of the city filtered through the blinds as Javi leaned back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers. He watched you quietly as you dressed, the tension thick in the air. You were no stranger to his apartment, no stranger to what you did to survive, but Javi’s eyes softened in a way you hadn’t noticed before.

“Ya sabes…,” he started, his voice rough from the smoke. “I don’t want you doing this shit anymore.”

You paused, glancing at him briefly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, Javi,” you muttered, zipping up your jeans.

He took a drag from his cigarette, his gaze not leaving you. “No… but I don’t like seeing you like this. You’re too smart for this life,” he said quietly, his words slow and deliberate.

There was no answer as you adjusted your shirt, but you could feel the weight of his words. Javi had always respected your work. He never treated you like shit like some of the others, but there was something more behind his eyes tonight—something you weren’t sure if you were ready to acknowledge.