The evacuation was—without question—chaos.
Students ran in every direction, teachers shouting orders that contradicted one another, alarms blaring loud enough to rattle the windows. Somewhere outside, the sky groaned like it was under strain, clouds twisting into unnatural spirals.
And yet, amid the panic, the boy noticed something absurdly specific.
Her grip on his hand was *way* too tight.
"Ow," he hissed. "I trust you, but I'd like to keep circulation."
She blinked, startled, and immediately loosened her grip. "Sorry. Reflex."
"That was a *reflex*?" he asked, half-laughing despite the situation. "What were you planning to do—throw me at the monster?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "If necessary."
"That is not comforting."
They ducked into a stairwell as a group of students rushed past them. The concrete walls muted the sirens slightly, but the tremor beneath their feet was impossible to ignore.
The boy leaned against the railing, breathing hard. "Okay. You said *they found us*. I'm guessing this isn't about a surprise math test."
She hesitated.
Then she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You're really bad at picking calm moments, you know that?"
"Hey," he said. "You're the one whose past life apparently involved giant death machines."
"…Fair."
Another tremor hit, stronger this time. Dust fell from the ceiling.
She straightened. "We don't have much time. I was hoping you'd remember more before this happened, but—"
"But fate is impatient?" he offered.
She snorted despite herself. "Very."
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "Listen carefully. What's outside isn't a monster. It's a *remnant*. A leftover weapon from the old world."
"The old world," he repeated. "The one where we were… partners."
"Yes."
He swallowed. "In a romantic sense, or a 'shared trauma and near-death experiences' sense?"
She paused.
Then her cheeks turned pink.
"…Both."
For a moment, the sirens faded into the background.
"Oh," he said intelligently.
She crossed her arms, clearly embarrassed. "Don't make it weird."
"I'm not making it weird," he said. "I'm processing. Very maturely."
"You're smiling."
"I process by smiling."
---
They reached the underground shelter beneath the school—except it wasn't a shelter.
The lights flickered on as they entered, revealing a massive, circular chamber carved deep into the earth. Metal rails lined the floor. Strange symbols—too clean to be ancient, too worn to be new—were etched into the walls.
The boy stopped dead. "Okay. Either this school has a *very* generous budget… or you owe me several explanations."
She let go of his hand and stepped forward. "This is a dormant access point. One of many."
"For…?" he prompted.
She turned back to him. "For us."
The floor trembled again. This time, a deep mechanical hum resonated through the chamber, vibrating in his bones.
His head throbbed.
Images flooded his mind—this place lit in red emergency light, her voice shouting commands, their bodies moving in perfect sync. Fear. Trust. Intimacy so intense it burned.
He staggered.
She was at his side instantly. "Hey—hey, breathe. Don't force it."
"I remember sitting," he said, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Not like… *sitting*. More like—being connected."
Her ears turned red. "That's because—"
"—it was intimate," he finished.
"…Yes."
"Extremely?"
"…Yes."
"WHY is that part coming back so clearly?!"
She coughed. "Synchronization tends to prioritize emotional memory."
"That explains a lot and absolutely nothing at the same time."
Despite everything—the danger, the fear—she laughed.
And the sound grounded him.
---
A section of the floor split open.
Steam hissed upward as something massive began to rise—sleek, angular, dormant but unmistakably powerful. It wasn't red like his fragmented memories suggested. This one was white and blue, streamlined, its surface marked with faint cracks of glowing light.
His heart skipped.
"That's… ours?" he asked.
"Our *current* frame," she corrected. "Think of it as a reincarnation."
The machine locked into place with a thunderous clang.
Lights flickered on.
A voice echoed through the chamber—soft, neutral.
**"Synchronization candidates detected."**
He stiffened. "Plural?"
She looked at him, nervous now. "Here's the part I didn't want to rush."
"Love that you say that *now*."
She took his hands again. "These machines don't run on skill alone. They respond to emotional alignment. Trust. Connection."
"So basically—"
"—yes," she said. "If we fight while emotionally out of sync, we die."
"No pressure."
She squeezed his hands. "I need you to choose this. Not because of destiny. Not because of past lives."
"Because of you," he said quietly.
Her eyes widened.
"…Yes."
He took a breath.
Then he smiled—soft, real, terrified.
"Okay," he said. "But if we survive, you owe me a full explanation. With diagrams."
She laughed, tears threatening to spill. "Deal."
---
Inside the cockpit, the world changed.
There were no controls—only sensation.
Warmth. Weightlessness. Her presence everywhere at once.
Their thoughts brushed—not words, but feelings. Embarrassment. Relief. Fear. Something deep and aching that felt like coming home.
**"Synchronization initializing."**
His heart raced.
*Too fast,* he thought.
She felt it instantly. *Hey—slow down. Breathe with me.*
Their breathing aligned.
The machine responded.
**"Synchronization rate: 62%… 71%…"**
Suddenly, a spike.
Her face flushed. *Stop thinking about that.*
*I'm not—!*
*You absolutely are.*
*YOU'RE THE ONE SITTING—*
**"WARNING: Emotional feedback loop detected."**
"WHY IS IT YELLING AT US?!" he shouted aloud.
"JUST—focus on me!" she snapped, equally flustered.
He did.
Not the machine. Not the danger.
Just her.
The warmth steadied.
**"Synchronization stabilized at 89%."**
Outside, the remnant howled as the machine awakened.
The cockpit lights shifted to combat mode.
She exhaled slowly. *You did good.*
*You too,* he replied. *Even if this is the weirdest first date ever.*
She smiled inside his mind.
*You have no idea.*
---
The machine stepped forward.
And for the first time in this life—
They fought together.
---