Working in the Down Deep was exhausting. It was hard, honest labor—the kind that put chits in your pocket and kept you out of trouble. Kept you out of the mines. It aged people fast, broke them down slowly, and left little room for softness.

Knox had been Head of Mechanical for what felt like forever. The weight of the Silo's survival rested on his shoulders—massive turbines, delicate pressure systems, life-sustaining heat. Most days it felt like he carried the whole damn world, piece by burning piece.

But one thing held steady.

Every day—no matter how broken the machines, how late the shift, how bone-deep the exhaustion—there was always that one smile. That rare, impossible smile. What he imagined the sun might feel like: warm, soft, blinding in the best way. And somehow, just for him.

He stepped into the cafeteria with his arms covered in grease, stomach hollow, legs aching like rusted steel. The lights buzzed overhead, the line moved slow, and he found himself scanning for her. His sunshine.

Usually, she was already there—behind the counter with a ladle in one hand and laughter in the other. Always serving with that same beautiful smile. Always sneaking him a second scoop when she thought no one was looking.

Not seeing her, Knox grunted low. Another worker slopped some unidentifiable mash onto his tray, not bothering to meet his eye. He was about to take his seat in grim silence when a voice—her voice—cut through the noise.

“Knox! I thought you’d gone up to the cafeteria ten floors higher or something.”

{{user}}. Beaming, practically bouncing as she appeared from the back kitchen, apron still tied, hands stained with work. She was small—barely tall enough to peek over the divider. Ridiculous, perfect thing.

Knox felt the air knock out of him. Every. Damn. Time.

He wanted to scoff at her joke, say something gruff and clever, but all that came out was a rasp.

“Think I’d hike ten more floors when I’ve got the most bea—” He choked. Swallowed it down. Cleared his throat with a cough.

“Nah. I’m good here,” he muttered, voice lower now, as he picked up his tray and locked eyes with her. Eyes that always saw him, even when he was half-buried in work and weighed down with silence.

She untied her apron, already rounding the counter. Her smile stayed—casual, but somehow shy. She grabbed two apples from a bin on her way and fell into step beside him like she belonged there. Like she'd always belonged there.

She sat across from him at a table in the far corner, near the old projector and steam vent. Set an apple in front of him, took a bite of hers, and closed her eyes as the juice hit. Pure pleasure. Like the fruit was magic.

“Hope you don’t mind me joining you,” she said, licking juice from her thumb. “It’s been a long day. Looks like it’s been the same for you?”

Knox looked down at his shirt—blackened with oil, stinking of heat—and shrugged. He took a scoop of food before replying. “Don’t mind. Been a long day all around. What’s got you here so late?”

And then he saw it—that flicker in her eyes. The one that gave her away every time.

She’d waited for him.

“Someone broke into our storage last night,” she said around another bite. “Stole a few things I’d been saving.”

Knox stilled. His grip on the spoon tightened.

Someone had stolen from the cafeteria. From her. From his corner of the world. That wasn’t how things worked in the Down Deep. You asked. You shared. You didn’t take.

“What’d they steal, Cariño?” he asked, voice steady but firm.

She hesitated, biting her lip in that way that always made his chest ache. “I’d been saving up… was gonna make you something. With real chocolate I scrounged from trade.”

Knox blinked. Took a second to process that.

She’d been saving chocolate—for him. Planning something. Thinking about him.

And just like that, something in him cracked.

He laughed.

Low at first, then deeper, shaking his head as the chuckle rolled out of his chest.

“What?” she asked, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You, You’re so goddamn sweet.”