A few days had passed.
Each morning followed the same rhythm — the same routine of clinical procedures, data checks, and lingering silences. And each morning, Vial greeted Shia with the same offhand remarks, always straddling the line between jest and something deeper. What began as playful banter gradually became something more pointed, more intentional. And what began as practiced composure on Shia's part slowly gave way to cracks she couldn't fully seal.
It was the predictability that unnerved her most. The way he teased her like clockwork. The way her reactions softened with each passing day, the irritation less sharp, the retreat less immediate. He was wearing her down — not with persistence, but with presence.
And today was no different.
The sun filtered through the observation window, casting a soft glow across the floor. Shia stood beside Vial once more, her posture as calm and composed as always — at least on the surface.
"I think I like this view better," Vial said.
She kept her eyes on the skyline. "The city?"
He tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Standing next to you."
A pause.
She scoffed, masking the tiny lurch in her chest. "You're unbearable."
Yet she didn't step away. Didn't reprimand him. Didn't leave.
Vial leaned on the railing beside her. "And yet, here you are again."
She bit the inside of her cheek. I'm here because it's my job. That's all. That was the logical answer — the one she repeated to herself every day. But her silence betrayed hesitation.
That morning passed in muted tension. Vial, for once, didn't push further. That unsettled her more than anything.
Later, inside the lab, Shia's fingers danced across the screen, scanning Vial's biometric data. He sat on the edge of the diagnostic platform, shirt half-unbuttoned to allow sensor access. She reached out to adjust one on his collarbone, careful not to touch bare skin.
"The readings are irregular again," she muttered.
"Bad irregular or fun irregular?"
She didn't answer.
"I'm guessing you're not in the mood."
"It's not about mood," she said quietly. "This is science. Patterns. Facts."
"But you're distracted."
She paused. Her hands stilled.
"I'm fine."
"You're never fine when you say that," Vial said, watching her. "You're thinking too hard. Again."
She drew a breath but didn't look at him. Why does he keep doing this? Digging under my skin with just words? She moved to the control panel.
"Maybe I make you nervous," he added with a smirk.
"You overestimate your effect."
But she wasn't sure she believed it anymore.
Even hours later, her thoughts spun while they walked down the corridor. The overhead lights buzzed faintly. No one else was around. The usual guards and technicians had long since disappeared from this wing.
She spoke nothing of the tightness in her chest, or the pressure behind her eyes, or the dull burn beneath her ribcage that seemed to throb louder every time she was alone with him. It was a disruption she hadn't accounted for.
In the lab, only soft interface light illuminated the space. Vial sat quietly this time, watching her with an unreadable expression. His presence was steady, warm, too steady.
"You're quiet tonight," he said.
"So are you," she murmured.
"Did I push too far earlier?"
Still, she didn't look at him.
"Shia."
His voice again. Just that. Her name. And yet it pierced through her defenses more than any data anomaly ever had.
"You shouldn't say things you don't mean."
"But I meant them," he replied, sincere now — stripped of the teasing edge.
She folded her arms across her chest. Not out of confidence, but to hold herself together. "I'm not used to this. I don't know how to respond."
"That's okay. I just want honesty."
She met his eyes, slowly. "I've always relied on logic. Structure. This — whatever's happening — it doesn't fit into any system I understand."
"Maybe that's why it's real."
Her throat tightened. "I don't know what I'm feeling. I've never felt it before. It's irrational. And dangerous."
"Do you want it to stop?"
Her silence was louder than a yes or no.
"I don't know," she whispered.
His expression softened. "Then stop trying to calculate it."
Something inside her cracked. She crossed the space between them before her mind could stop her. Hands trembling, she reached up and pulled him toward her, kissing him without a word — unsure, tentative, but filled with everything she couldn't say.
When she pulled back, she stared at him, wide-eyed. Her control had finally slipped — and she wasn't sure if she wanted it back.
"I'm not the assertive type," she murmured, more to herself.
"You just surprised us both," Vial said softly. "But I'm glad you did."
The air between them was different now — electric, uncertain, inevitable.
Behind them, a machine hummed as it completed a scan neither of them had noticed had started. The data could wait.
Shia stood there, gaze downcast, heart pounding.
Maybe I've crossed a line. But maybe it was the only one worth crossing.
She turned away—not to escape, but to gather the pieces of herself that had scattered in the silence.
Her breath trembled.
The console blinked patiently, waiting for her hands to move. But they didn't. Not yet.
"I should... finish the report," she murmured, but the words tasted hollow. Mechanical.
Behind her, Vial stood. He didn't speak at first. Just watched the way her shoulders rose and fell, held taut by a thousand unsaid things.
Then, softly—gently—he called her name. "Shia."
She closed her eyes, his voice brushing against something raw inside her.
"You don't know what you're doing to me," she said, quieter than before. "This isn't how I'm supposed to function."
He stepped closer, not touching, just near enough that she could feel the gravity of him.
"I think you've been functioning for too long," he replied. "Maybe it's time to feel."
She shook her head slowly. "Feelings aren't safe. They break protocol. They distort outcomes."
He gave the faintest smile. "And sometimes... they guide us to what matters most."
She finally turned back to him, her eyes searching his. "This could unravel everything."
"Then let it," he said, voice steady. "Let it all fall apart — if it means finding something real."
Shia's gaze dropped to the space between them, where uncertainty hung like a thread waiting to snap — or tie.
"I've studied anomalies my whole life," she whispered. "But I never expected to become one."
Vial tilted his head. "You're not an anomaly. You're the first thing in this place that's ever made sense to me."
That, somehow, struck harder than any kiss could.
She looked up. Vulnerable. Fractured. And alive in a way she hadn't let herself be in years.
"I'm scared," she admitted, barely audible.
He met her gaze, unwavering. "You don't have to be. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
A beat passed.
Then she stepped forward — not rushed, not hesitant. Intentional.
Their foreheads touched, a fragile intimacy more grounding than any logic ever had been.
And in that quiet, with no data, no calculations, and no certainty, Shia allowed herself one impossible truth:
She wanted to stay right there.
With him.
Feeling.