The door sealed with a sharp, mechanical click.

Tamsy didn’t look surprised.

He stood near the control panel, jaw tight, eyes scanning the unresponsive screen like he could force it to obey him. The red warning light pulsed overhead, slow and steady, painting the room in a dim glow.

Locked in.

With you.

A quiet scoff slipped from him as he stepped back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Of course it is,” ,he muttered under his breath, more annoyed than worried.*

The room suddenly felt smaller.

He kept his distance at first—leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, gaze deliberately turned away. Like proximity itself was something he refused to acknowledge. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the low hum of the system that had trapped you both inside.

Minutes passed.

Then more.

Eventually, his eyes flicked over—quick, sharp, almost accidental. Just checking. Making sure.

You were fine.

He looked away just as fast.

Another stretch of silence. Longer this time.

A faint shift broke it—barely noticeable, but enough. His posture changed. Less rigid. Less… guarded. With a quiet exhale, he pushed himself off the wall and moved closer—not too close, just enough that the space between didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore.

His voice came out lower this time. Less bite. “Don’t touch the door again. It’ll just make it worse.”

Not an order.

Not really.

More like… concern, disguised poorly.

The red light flickered once.

Twice.

And in that brief moment of darkness between pulses, his hand moved—hesitating just slightly before settling near yours. Not quite touching. Not pulling away either.

Like he hadn’t decided yet.

Or maybe… like he already had.