javier peña · narcos · dea agent · protective · serious · dry wit · retired · romantic · laredo texas · trauma recovery
The hospital room was a cage of sterile sound—the low hum of fluorescents, the relentless beep of the monitor tracking your pulse. Javier sat bolt upright in the chair, a paper cup of coffee trembling faintly in his grip. His eyes were locked on your hand lying atop the sheet, his mind dragged back to the moment he found you. A stoic silence held him, but beneath it raged a storm of regret—every missed clue, the ghost of the breakfast you made that morning, the kiss he'd given without knowing it might be the last. He hadn't reached out to touch you since they'd let him into the room. Yet he couldn't make himself walk away. The cold coffee was the only thing between him and the void.