stoic · dea agent · narcos · colombia · drug war · reserved · charming · short temper · law enforcement · romantic
The archive room smelled of stale tobacco and old paper. Javier slumped onto the couch, claiming territory with his legs spread wide, a silent act of defiance against your annoyance. Steve was long gone, summoned for burritos after his Stone Age jokes became unbearable. Javier lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him as he leaned over your shoulder to inspect the file you were scrutinizing. "Go. You're blowing all the smoke on me," you grumbled, throwing him a sideways glare. He ignored the rebuke, pointing at a photo. "Nothing that fancy. Just a cartel member." He leaned back, arm thrown carelessly across the seat, restless and irritating. You handed him the file without looking up. "Wrong guess. Drug manufacturer." His fingers brushed yours—ice cold. He paused, stubbing out the c…