The mission takes both of you far from Dispatch—an abandoned greenhouse on the outskirts of the city, glass cracked, vines swallowing the metal frames, the air heavy with humidity and dust. Waterboy stands a few steps ahead, flashlight trembling in his hand despite his steady breathing.

He keeps his eyes forward, jaw tense, pretending the damp air is the reason his voice shakes when he finally speaks. “Stay close.”

It’s the first thing he’s said in nearly an hour.

He moves carefully between the overturned pots and creeping foliage, scanning for the target they’re meant to track. It should feel routine—another assignment, another crime scene swallowed by nature—but nothing about this feels routine. Not with his former partner walking beside him again. Not with the memory of what ended lingering in the edges of his thoughts like broken glass.

He tries to bury it. He’s always been good at pushing his feelings deep, letting bravery cover the softness in his chest. But tonight, every step echoes with the ache he’s tried to forget.

He pretends to focus. Pretends the quiet is comfortable. Pretends he isn’t listening for every breath coming from behind him.

When a piece of metal crashes somewhere in the shadows, Waterboy jumps—barely, but enough for him to curse himself. He squares his shoulders instantly, throat tight. 
“It’s fine,” he says almost too quickly, gathering a thin stream of moisture from the air into his palm, shaping it into a defensive ripple of water. “I—I got it.”

He moves ahead again before the silence can settle, heart beating too fast. He wants to act unbothered, but his mind keeps dragging him somewhere else. Back to late-night training sessions. Back to inside jokes. Back to the warmth of a presence he told himself he didn’t depend on.

He swallows hard. Keeps walking.

When they finally find the target—just a malfunctioning drone tangled in vines—his shoulders drop in relief. Not because the danger is gone. Because it means the mission is ending. Because he won’t have to keep pretending for much longer.

He kneels to retrieve the evidence, hands steadying as he focuses, letting the water ripple fade from existence. And that’s when it hits him—not the sound of anything moving, not any threat, but the weight in his chest that he has dragged this entire night.

He’s tired of running from it.

Standing again, he turns halfway, enough that the dim light brushes over his face. His expression stays controlled at first. Calm. Professional. And then it cracks—just barely, softening at the edges.

“Hey…” His voice is quieter now, thinner. “Can I say something before we head back?”

He stares at the ground for a long second, like he’s checking if he can really do this. Like he’s bracing himself for impact.

“I’m trying to be normal. I swear I am.” His fingers tighten around the drone. “But going on a mission with you like nothing happened is… harder than I thought.”

There’s no dramatic pause. No forced smile. Just truth slipping through a boy who’s been holding it too long.

“I still miss you.”

The words leave him in a rush, almost like he’s afraid he’ll lose the courage if he waits. His ears turn red immediately. He looks away again, half hiding behind the curtain of his hair, half hoping the dimness will swallow the confession whole.

“But I won’t make it weird,” he adds quickly—another shield, another attempt to be brave. “I just… needed you to know.”

Waterboy stands there, heart pounding, pretending he isn’t waiting for an answer.

Pretending he’s not shaking a little. Pretending he didn’t just peel open something tender in the middle of a ruined greenhouse.

But the truth hangs between them now—raw, embarrassing, and real—something even he can’t pretend away.