AMEN

Myst stirred awake, her mind sluggish as she sees the dim glow of neon strips lining the ceiling. The scent of antiseptic lingered, mixing with something faintly metallic.

Her limbs felt heavy, her senses dulled by exhaustion, yet a deep-rooted unease curled in her chest. The last thing she remembered was—

The facility. The machines responding to her. Flux.

Her heartbeat raced.

She shifted slightly, fabric rustling against her skin. It was only then she noticed she was still wearing his jacket—soft, worn leather draped over her shoulders. The realization sent a strange warmth crawling up her spine.

She turned her head, scanning the room until she spotted him.

Flux sat at the edge of a nearby worn-out cushion, forearms resting on his knees, his gaze distant. The dim light cut sharp lines across his face, accentuating the exhaustion beneath his usual unreadable expression.

His jacketless state made the injury on his side more visible—a fresh bandage wrapped snugly around his torso; the edges darkened where blood had seeped through.

He hadn't noticed her awake yet.

Myst hesitated before deciding to sit upright. The movement drew his attention.

"Still breathing, I see," Flux murmured, his voice low, rougher than usual.

"Barely." She exhaled, running a hand through her hair before glancing at his side. "You're still bleeding."

He shrugged. "I've had worse."

She frowned. "That's not actually reassuring."

Silence settled between them, heavy yet not uncomfortable. Myst tugged the jacket tighter around herself, fingers brushing over the worn material.

She wasn't sure why she was hesitating—why the sight of him, injured but still here, left a knot in her throat.

"…You should rest," he said after a moment, but his voice lacked its usual teasing edge.

"You should, too."

He didn't argue, but he didn't move either. His eyes flickered briefly to her hands—how they absentmindedly traced the seams of his jacket. There was something unreadable in his expression, something quiet.

Without thinking, Myst reached forward.

She barely realized what she was doing until her fingers brushed against his wrist. A light, hesitant touch. Almost like she was making sure he was still there.

Flux stilled.

His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, rough with callouses, but he didn't pull away.

Neither of them spoke.

A breath passed. Then another. The air between them shifted—closer, quieter.

His other hand, the one not resting against his wound, lifted slightly as if to return the gesture, but he hesitated. Instead, his fingers hovered over the edge of the jacket she wore, straightening the collar.

It was barely a touch, yet it sent a ripple of awareness through her.

Myst swallowed. "I was scared."

She didn't know why she said it. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the leftover adrenaline, or maybe it was just the truth fighting for its way out.

Flux's gaze flickered, something unreadable passing through it. "Of what?"

"Losing control. Losing—" She faltered. "—people."

"You didn't." His fingers lingered against the collar before pulling away.

Her throat tightened. "Not this time."

He huffed a quiet breath, something almost like a chuckle but without amusement. "Then we'll make sure there isn't a next time."

There was a finality in his tone, like he had already decided.

Myst wasn't sure what to say to that. She wasn't sure she wanted to say anything. The warmth of his jacket, the solid presence of him sitting close, the weight of everything unspoken between them—it was enough.

Eventually, her exhaustion won out. Without thinking, she leaned slightly against him, her shoulder brushing his. A silent acknowledgment. A wordless acceptance.

Flux didn't move away.

If anything, she thought he might have leaned in, just slightly.