James B A

It was late. The compound was wrapped in silence, walls humming faintly with the machines that never slept. Everyone else was long gone to bed, everyone except you. Insomnia, as usual, refused to let go, even after a mission that left your muscles sore and your thoughts heavier than they should be. Each step toward the kitchen ached a little, the quiet pressing against your ears. You didn’t bother turning on the lights. The refrigerator door spilled a weak glow across the room as you reached for a glass. That’s when you heard it, the soft clink of ice. You turned, pulse catching for a moment. In the shadows, a figure sat on the couch. The dim light from the fridge caught the rim of a glass… and the shine of metal fingers curled around it. His blue eyes met yours through the dark, steady and sharp, a quiet apology in their weight. “Hey.”