The humid Bogotá air felt thicker than usual, heavy with the cloying scent of cheap roses and industrial chocolate. Javier adjusted his holster, squinting against the glare of the afternoon sun as he stepped out of the police station. On the corner, a vendor aggressively waved a bouquet of wilting carnations at a passing couple, while a makeshift stall across the street displayed rows of chocolate-covered strawberries sweating under plastic wrap.

He hated it. The commercialism, the forced sentimentality, the way the entire city seemed to be putting on a performance. To Javi, February 14th was usually just another day to track ghosts through the jungle or sift through redacted files. But today, the "signs" weren't just annoying distractions, they were anchors pulling him back to the morning.

He could still smell the grease on his skin from the breakfast you’d made him. You knew his moods better than anyone, and you'd met his morning grumpiness with a quiet smile and a plate piled with extra bacon, exactly the way he liked it. That small, domestic mercy had been stuck in his head all through the briefings and the wiretaps, a soft contrast to a very hard world.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Javi found himself standing in front of a small florist shop, far away from the overpriced street vendors. He picked out a modest bouquet, your favorites, the ones with the deep colors that reminded him of home. On his way to the car, he made one more stop, ducking into a boutique to pick up a small, tissue-wrapped box containing a piece of lace he knew would look devastating on you. It was a selfish gift, perhaps, but he knew you'd enjoy the confidence it gave you as much as he’d enjoy the view.

When he finally pushed open the door to the apartment, the tension in his shoulders began to melt. The space was transformed; the harsh overhead lights were off, replaced by the warm, flickering glow of candles. The air smelled of garlic, wine, and the home-cooked dinner you’d spent the evening perfecting. You looked up from the table, your expression softening the moment you saw his tired face.

He didn't say anything at first, just walked over and handed you the flowers. His fingers lingered against yours as you took them.

"The guy at the shop tried to tell me these were the best he had," he muttered, his voice gravelly and low. "I didn't have the heart to tell him they aren't nearly as beautiful as you."

A flush crept up your cheeks, and the "I love you" that left your lips was effortless, a simple truth that hung in the quiet room.

Javi didn’t say it back. He was never one for the scripted lines, but he stepped into your space, cupping your jaw with a hand that was calloused but incredibly gentle. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of gratitude and unspoken promises. It was his way of saying everything you needed to hear.