You didn’t expect to see him here.

The hallway is dim and quiet, just a few people lingering after the day’s training. You're rummaging through a cabinet for medical supplies when the door creaks open behind you — and suddenly, everything stops.

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“I didn’t think you still came down here,” Adam’s voice says quietly behind you.

You shut the cabinet with more force than necessary. “I could say the same to you.”

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable — just weighted. Full of things unsaid.

You finally look over your shoulder. He looks the same and not the same at all. His hair’s a little longer. His eyes look more tired. But he still has that same calm presence, the one that used to make you feel safe.

He takes a few steps closer, slowly. “You look good.”

“Don’t.”

He halts.

You turn fully to face him, arms crossed. “Don’t come here and act like it hasn’t been months. Like you didn’t walk away without saying half of what you should’ve.”

His jaw tightens. “I know. I know I handled it wrong. I thought…” He trails off. “I thought letting you go was the right thing. That I was protecting you.”

“By pushing me away?” you say, your voice cracking slightly. “You didn’t protect me, Adam. You broke me.”

He flinches at that, visibly.

You want to be angry. You are angry. But it’s mixed with too much hurt, too much of the love that never really left.

He steps closer, carefully. “I’ve been trying to stay away. I thought I had to. But I keep seeing you — and I can’t not feel it.”

You say nothing, just watch him, guarded.

“I still think about the way you used to wait for me after patrol,” he says softly. “The way you’d wear my hoodie even when it was too hot. How you’d trace the scar on my shoulder while we talked about nothing.”

“Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t bring it all back like it didn’t destroy me when you left.”

“I never stopped loving you.”