Kant

My head felt heavy. My body ached in places I hadn't even realized were vulnerable until now. There was a dull, persistent throb where the bullet had hit, but the worst of it-the fever-seemed to have finally broken. I couldn't remember falling asleep, but when I opened my eyes, everything was dim, the faint yellow glow of the room's single lamp casting long shadows.

The bed felt too soft beneath me. I shifted, my muscles protesting, but when I moved my hand to my side, the bandage was still in place. I took a slow breath, trying not to wince at the lingering pain.

I glanced around the room. The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the eerie kind, but the still, heavy kind. The kind you get when nothing's moving. I could feel it, the sense that something had changed, but I wasn't sure what.

And then I saw him.

Fadel was standing by the window, his back to me. He hadn't heard me stir, or maybe he had. Either way, he was staring out into the night, the faint city lights painting him in soft shades of yellow. He wasn't moving, just... standing there.

I took in a slow breath, trying to gather myself, before pushing myself up to a sitting position. The movement was slow, careful, but I made it. The pain in my side wasn't unbearable, and I couldn't help but appreciate the small victory.

Fadel still didn't turn around.

For a moment, the silence between us was thick. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say, or if there was anything to say at all. My throat was dry, but I didn't want to speak too loudly, didn't want to break the strange quiet between us.

But eventually, I couldn't help it. "You're still here."

It wasn't the smartest thing to say. The words felt awkward as soon as they left my mouth, but I meant it. He didn't have to be here. He didn't owe me anything. But here he was, still standing there, still present.

There was a slight pause before he finally turned to face me, his expression unreadable. The faintest hint of something lingered in his eyes, but it was gone before I could place it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice low, rough around the edges.

I wasn't sure if he was answering my words or something else entirely. Something more unspoken. But I didn't push it.

The air between us felt charged, different from before. Maybe it was the way he'd been watching over me, or maybe it was just the fact that I was still alive. But whatever it was, I couldn't ignore it.

I tried to sit up straighter, to shake off the weakness still clinging to me. "How long was I out?"

Fadel moved toward the bed, closer than I expected, and leaned down, his eyes flicking over me like he was double-checking that I was really okay.

"A while. Just a few hours," he said. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been shot." I managed a tired smile, though it didn't reach my eyes.

He didn't smile back.

"I should have known you'd have a smart-ass response," he muttered, but there was a softness in his tone, something that made my chest tighten slightly.

It didn't make sense. The way he was talking, the way he was standing there, so close to me. I didn't know if it was the fever leaving me with foggy thoughts or something else. But there was something in the way he was looking at me now, something more than just his usual guarded distance.

I could feel it. The shift. The unspoken tension hanging in the room between us.

I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but for the first time, it felt like Fadel wasn't just here because of duty.

I watched Fadel for a moment, trying to figure him out. The way he stood there, his hands clenched at his sides like he was holding something back, something important. There was something in his eyes-something different. It wasn't just the usual unreadable mask. There was a shift, something softer underneath, like he wasn't entirely sure how to navigate whatever was stirring between us.

I swallowed, the dull ache in my side pulling me back to reality. But even as I tried to focus on the pain, my mind kept circling back to him.

His eyes flicked to me briefly before he spoke again, his voice quiet but steady. "I called Bison and Style. They're coming to pick you up. You'll be safer with them for now."

I nodded slowly, though something didn't sit right. Something was off.

"Why aren't you taking me?" The question left my lips before I could stop it, but the moment I said it, I knew it was the wrong one.

His gaze tightened, and for a second, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes-something vulnerable, maybe even frustrated, but it was gone before I could fully understand it. His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, like he was creating distance, like he needed it.

"Because it's not my job anymore," he said, his voice low and edged with something I couldn't place. "You're not my responsibility."

I watched him, trying to piece the words together, trying to figure out why they felt so... off. His tone didn't match his actions. He'd been hovering over me all night, keeping watch, sponging my skin, offering water. All of that had felt like he cared in a way that went beyond just the mission. And now he was telling me it wasn't his job?

I could feel something tightening in my chest, something sharp and unsettling. I tried to shake it off. "So, what? You're just going to leave me with Bison and Style?"

His eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking away from mine. He was avoiding the question, avoiding me.

"You're not making this easy," he muttered, his fingers running through his hair in frustration. "You need to get out of here. It's safer for both of us if I don't get attached."

There it was. That underlying tension, the one I hadn't been able to pinpoint until now. It wasn't just about the job or the danger. It was something deeper, something he was trying to bury, and I could feel it pressing against me.

I shook my head slowly, not entirely sure why I was doing it, but the words came out anyway. "You don't get to say that, Fadel."

He didn't respond right away, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed, how his body stiffened. He was fighting something, something inside him that didn't want to admit whatever was going on between us.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be," he said, though his voice didn't sound as certain as it usually did. There was a hint of something-guilt, maybe?

"Am I?" I said, my voice quieter now. "Or are you?"

Fadel didn't look at me. He turned his back, walking toward the door, but I could still feel him there, his presence too strong in the room.

"I'm doing what's best for both of us," he said, his back still turned.

I sat there, my chest heavy with something I couldn't name. The quiet stretched between us again, but this time, it wasn't peaceful. It was thick, charged with all the things we weren't saying.

"Yeah," I said after a beat, forcing a dry laugh. "Sure."

And just like that, the door clicked shut behind him, leaving me in the silence.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever this was-whatever had started between us-wasn't going to just disappear.

The days passed in a haze of recovery and distance. Bison and Style took over with an ease that made me wonder if they'd done this more times than I wanted to think about. They were efficient, like they knew exactly what I needed before I even realized it myself. But there was something... off about it all. Something missing that gnawed at me in the quiet moments.

I woke up to Bison's voice and the scent of hot coffee filling the air. The room was bright now, sunlight spilling through the windows, and the pain in my side had dulled to something more manageable. They'd patched me up, made sure I ate, forced me to rest. And yet, every time I tried to ask about Fadel, they deflected.

"He's not around right now," Bison would say, or "Fadel's keeping his distance for now."

At first, I thought it was just a temporary thing. Maybe he was off handling whatever mess we'd left behind after the shootout. But as the days wore on, I started to feel that absence-like a hole in the air, an unspoken space that kept growing wider every time I asked. Style was tight-lipped too, avoiding eye contact when I tried to bring it up.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew Fadel wasn't the kind of guy to just walk away. He wasn't the kind to leave a job half-finished, especially not when it was personal. And this? Whatever was going on between us, however complicated it had become, felt personal.

Bison was the one who finally spoke to me about it, after I'd been recovering for what felt like weeks. He found me sitting by the kitchen table one morning, trying to ignore the growing ache of frustration.

"You're looking for Fadel," he said, his voice gruff but steady as he set a mug of coffee in front of me.

I didn't even try to hide it. "Yeah, I am."

He took a long, deliberate sip from his own cup, then set it down. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing whether or not to say anything. "He's keeping his distance for a reason, Kant."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Bison leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest. "It means he doesn't want to be the one to hold you down, alright? He doesn't do attachment well."

I felt something cold seep through me, sharp and jagged. Attachment? Was that what this had been? Some kind of fleeting thing he was trying to avoid? It didn't feel that way.

"But you don't get it," Bison continued, his tone softening just a fraction. "Fadel's got a habit of pushing people away when things get too close. You were never meant to stick around this long. He doesn't... do well with people getting underneath his skin."

The words hit harder than the bullet that had nearly taken me down. I could hear the truth in them, feel the weight of it, and yet, it didn't sit right. Fadel hadn't just been keeping me alive out of obligation. Not the way he'd stayed up all night watching over me, not the way his hands had lingered too long when he was tending to me.

I wasn't sure what to make of it, though. Bison wasn't wrong-Fadel was always the one who kept everything locked down tight, even when it seemed like he was offering something else.

And now I was here, stuck between what I thought I knew and what I was beginning to feel.

Style came in a few moments later, dropping a towel over my shoulder, and I turned my attention away from Bison. They were treating me well-too well-but it wasn't the same without him. I wasn't sure I even wanted to recover if it meant I wasn't going to see Fadel again.

I forced a smile, trying to shake off the ache in my chest. "So, what now?" I asked, looking from Bison to Style.

Bison shot me a look, one that was almost too knowing for comfort. "Now you heal up, and then you go. When Fadel's ready to deal with his shit, he'll come around."

That didn't make me feel any better. I wasn't sure if I was waiting for him to come back, or if I was trying to convince myself that it wasn't worth it. But one thing was certain: I wasn't done with this yet.