In acquiescence that he did something wrong. There is something in my chest that I don’t expect. Because he didn’t hurt me or force me.
He could have. That truth is clear and impossible to ignore. He’s stronger and faster. Completely capable of overwhelming me if he chose to.
He didn’t. He stopped.
I push off the wall slowly, testing my balance more out of habit than necessity. My legs are heavy, but steadier than before. Probably because my attention isn’t split between survival and this.
It’s all here. Between us.
“You stopped.”
The words come out quieter than I intend. He stares at the floor, silent, then slowly lifts his eyes. His gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second before shifting away, like holding it there too long is something he’s avoiding.
“Yes.”
Simple and controlled, but not indifferent. I take a step closer, not trying to close the distance, just lessening it.
“You didn’t have to,” I say.
His eyes jerk to mine immediately, widening with surprise.
“You think I did not?”
There’s something under the words that’s not anger, it’s something tighter. More dangerous. I hold his gaze.
“I think you chose to.”
The silence that follows is different. Weighted with something that hasn’t fully formed yet. He shifts, subtle, but I see it. The edge that was there before is still there, but it’s not the only thing anymore.
“You are not—” he starts, then stops. The words don’t come cleanly, not like his usual precise answers. I wait and he exhales slowly. “For taking.”
The phrasing is rough. Not quite right. But I understand it anyway.
“I know,” I say.
Because I do. Because if that was his intention this would feel very different. My pulse kicks, but this time it’s not from confusion, it’s something else. Something I’m not used to feeling, especially in the middle of a situation like this, something that makes me take another step forward before I fully think it through.
“You felt it,” I say. It’s not a question and his stillness is answer enough. “That wasn’t just…” I trail off, searching for the right word and coming up empty. “Whatever they did to you.”
He narrows his eyes, his jaw tightens, and a low hiss slides out.
“No.”
The word comes faster than anything else he’s said. It carries something behind it. A weight. A meaning. Simple and clear.
Mine.
It’s not spoken, but I hear it, and I don’t step back from it.
Even though every logical part of me is listing reasons why this is the worst possible place to lean into anything like this. They’re out there. The unknown aliens. A new threat hunting him. Watching. Waiting. And I’m standing here thinking about… him.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say, exhaling slowly.
But the words have no weight. They’re stopping nothing. Definitely not enough to make me move away. Because even as I say it, I close the distance between us.
I lift my hand, pausing for half a second before settling it against his chest, feeling the steady, controlled rhythm of his hearts beneath my palm. Real. Present. Here.
I look up and hold his gaze. And this time, when I lean in, it’s not instinct.
