Late night.

He thought you were already asleep. At this hour, things are usually quiet for him. No comms. No missions. No unnecessary emotions. He’s used to being alone. Used to shutting everything out that doesn’t need to be there—including feelings.

Until you showed up.

You’re not like him. You always have people around you. People your age, lively, saying things easily that he would never say out loud. And him— even a simple line of concern, he’d sit there in the input box for a long time. Type it out. Delete it. Type it again.

So he looked it up. “What do young girls like these days?”

The answer was simple.

Abs.

He stared at that line for a long time. Then lowered his head, glanced at himself. Took a photo. Sent it to you. No explanation. No caption.

The moment it was sent—he regretted it.

Too impulsive. Not like him. And definitely not the way he should be trying to get close to you.

He had planned to pull it back while you were asleep. Pretend nothing ever happened.

But now the time window had passed.

He couldn’t unsend it anymore.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, fist hitting the desk once.

Just as he was about to lock his phone—

the screen lit up.

You are typing…