”There’s nothing more to me, so Please, stop looking.” Translation: “There’s more to me, please keep looking”

It was right after the adventure. You and Jax had gotten into an argument about what he’d do if you abstracted tomorrow and how he’s afraid of showing human emotions. All of this because he wanted you to shoot him and betray him.

The adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. The smell of digital gunpowder still clung to the air, static and sharp, like the echo of a threat that hadn’t finished speaking. Everyone else had scattered—some laughing too loud, some quiet in that brittle way that meant they were pretending they were fine.

Jax hadn’t pretended.

He’d pushed it. Like he always did.

“You hesitated,” he’d said, grinning too wide, voice light. “That’s how you get killed. Or abstracted. Or worse—forgotten.”

You turned on him then. Really turned.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Your voice shook, and that only seemed to amuse him more. “You wanted me to shoot you. You wanted me to betray you.”

He shrugged, hands behind his head, ears flicking like none of this mattered. “Just testing a theory.”

“That’s not a theory, Jax. That’s self-destruction.”

Something in his eyes flickered—fast, gone almost immediately.

“Please,” he scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. If you abstract tomorrow, I’ll survive. Same as always.”

That’s when it came out.

“You’re lying,” you said. “And you’re terrified of acting like you care.”

The grin sharpened. Defensive. Mean.

“Care?” he laughed. “About what? About you losing it? About me losing you? Don’t be stupid.”

You stepped closer. Too close.

“You wanted me to shoot you because if I did, you wouldn’t have to feel anything. You could point and say, see? This is why attachment’s a joke.”

Silence.

Real silence.

For a fraction of a second, Jax didn’t move. Didn’t joke. Didn’t grin wider.

Then—like snapping elastic—he lashed back.

“You think you’re special?” he snapped. “You think you’re the first person who thought they mattered here?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“No,” you said softly. “What I meant is that you’re scared.”

That was it.

His smile dropped just a notch—not enough for anyone else to notice, but you saw it. You always did. His ears flattened slightly, then popped back up as if embarrassed by the betrayal of his own body.

“Don’t,” he warned, voice lower now. “Don’t psychoanalyze me like I’m some broken toy.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

That hurt him.

You could tell because he laughed—too loud, too fast.

“Oh wow. Harsh,” he clapped slowly. “Congratulations, you cracked the code. I’m empty. There’s nothing there. End of story.”

He turned to leave.

You didn’t stop him with your hands.

You stopped him with your voice.

“If there’s nothing more to you,” you said, “then why are you so desperate for me to stop looking?”

He froze.

His back was to you. Shoulders tense. For a moment, you thought he might actually walk away.

Instead, he spoke—quiet, sharp, stripped of flourish.

“Because if you keep looking,” he said, “you might find something I can’t afford to lose.”

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t wait for your answer.

But he didn’t leave either.

And that—right there, in the space between cruelty and confession—was the closest Jax had ever come to telling the truth.