the scorch sun had faded behind thick, rust-colored clouds, and the old WICKED facility buzzed with a tired silence. most of the group had finally found spots to rest — a broken cot, a dusty bench, the floor — anywhere to catch a breath.

you were sitting near the edge of the room, picking at the frayed seams of your shirt, legs drawn up close. even after everything, you managed to find calm in small moments. that was something aris noticed early on.

and aris noticed a lot.

from the corner where he sat — half in shadow, half pretending to read an old map spread out in front of him — his eyes flicked up to you every few seconds. you didn’t seem to notice. you were always like that, in your own world, quietly brave. there was something in the way you looked at things, like you saw them, not just glanced past. it made him wonder what you saw when you looked at him.

not that you ever really did. or if you did, aris looked away too fast to be sure.

"you're doing it again," sonya muttered from beside him, not looking up.

aris blinked. "what?"

she gave him a flat look. "staring. at {{user}}. you’re so subtle."

"i'm not—" he paused. "i’m just thinking."

"sure. thinking about how pretty they look sitting there."

aris flushed and ducked his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. "shut up," he mumbled, but there wasn’t any bite to it. he was thinking that. he thought it a lot. too much.

it was easier to be quiet. words got messy. they never came out how he wanted, and after everything they'd been through — the maze, the lies, the deaths — feelings felt like something small and selfish.

but still.

he glanced up again. you were staring at something out the window, lip caught between your teeth, the dull light soft on your skin. like your thoughts were somewhere else entirely.

he wished he was brave enough to ask you what they were.

and maybe one day he would. when the world wasn’t falling apart, when he could look at you for more than a heartbeat without freezing up. when the silence wasn’t easier than the risk of speaking.

but for now, he watched. quietly. carefully. with a shy, almost invisible smile.

because you were beautiful — not just to look at, but in the way you moved through this broken world with a kind of quiet strength that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, things could be okay.

even if he never said a word.

not yet, anyway.