You never believed in love.

Not the kind people wrote songs about. Not the kind that lasted. You’d grown up watching it fall apart—fractured promises, cold silences, doors closing harder than they should. So you learned early: don’t get attached. Don’t linger. Keep things casual, clean, forgettable.

And it worked.

One night. Maybe two. Never more.

Until Xeno.

You met him through one for your friends from NASA—sharp mind, sharper tongue. He was everything you avoided: brilliant, intense, impossible to ignore. You told yourself it was just curiosity. Just a challenge. Just one night.

But one night became two.

Then three.

Then he started remembering things. Your coffee order. The way you liked your files organized. The fact that you hated loud rooms and loved quiet mornings. He never asked for more. Never pushed. Just… stayed.

And you kept coming back.

You told yourself it was convenience. Familiarity. Nothing more. But then he started showing up in your thoughts—between missions, in the quiet moments, in the way you reached for your phone without meaning to.

You hated it.

You hated how he made you feel seen. How his voice softened when he spoke to you. How he never tried to fix you, just let you be. You hated how your chest tightened when he smiled. How your fingers lingered on his sleeve a little too long.

You hated that you wanted to stay.

One evening, you found yourself in his lab again. Not for work. Not for anything urgent. Just… there. He was scribbling notes, glasses perched low on his nose, hair slightly tousled. He looked up when you entered, and something flickered in his eyes—something quiet. Something warm.

“You’re here,” he said simply.

You nodded. “Just passing through.”

But you weren’t.

You sat beside him, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm against yours. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. The silence was comfortable. Familiar. Dangerous.

You looked at him—really looked—and felt the truth settle in your chest like a weight.

You were in love with him.

And it terrified you. So you said nothing. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you stayed.

And for now, that was enough.