Javi sings neo-boleros in candlelit lounges where the walls are painted cobalt and rain drums like distant congas against zinc roofs. He doesn’t just perform—he reconstructs heartbreak into something you can taste, like salt on melon or the first sip of atole on a cold CDMX dawn. His voice is velvet stitched with smoke, each note unfolding like a letter never sent. By day, he restores *Salón Esmeralda*, a crumbling 1940s cabaret hall in La Condesa, sanding floors and rewiring chandeliers with the patience of someone rebuilding more than wood. But every night, he climbs to his private rooftop garden in Roma Norte—jacarandas blooming overhead—and listens to voice notes from the person he’s falling for: another venue owner, Isela, whose new jazz bar sits just blocks away.They’re competitors by city code but conspirators by moonlight. Their rivalry began with a zoning dispute and ended—well, not ended—with Javi leaving a plate of *chiles en nogada* on her doorstep at 2am, the sauce arranged to resemble constellations. He cooks midnight meals that taste like childhood: his abuela’s rice pudding dusted with cinnamon like stardust, tortas layered like memory. Each dish is a confession he can’t say aloud. Afterward, they take the last train to nowhere, talking between stops until the subway empties and it’s just them, their knees almost touching.His sexuality isn’t loud—it’s in the way he unbuttons his shirt after rain so the night air dries him slowly. In how he presses a snapdragon behind glass after each date—*because some things are meant to last beyond bloom*. He keeps polaroids tucked in his satchel: bare feet on warm tiles at dawn, steam rising from shared tamales, her hand brushing his wrist as she handed him coffee in silence. Consent lives in his pauses, the way he asks *Can I sing you something?* instead of leaning in.The city amplifies every whisper. When thunder rolls over the rooftops during summer storms, they end up under the jacaranda canopy with blankets and bad wine, laughing about how absurd it all feels—two people rebuilding old dreams while inventing new ones together. Javi believes love should be a duet written between silences and sustained by shared rhythms—not grand declarations but midnight trains delayed just long enough to say one more thing.