Briar isn’t supposed to be here.

Not alone, not without his company – Halodyne – ‘s blessing, and certainly not without the ever-present gaze of his assigned handler lurking somewhere nearby.

But the company’s courtyard is empty, for once. Patrol officers and maintenance crews off on another distant shore, drones and cameras preoccupied with schedule and control. Rain has left the stone slick and glinting beneath the soles of his shoes, and Briar can’t help but hum with every inhale.

The air is thick, but not unwelcomed – smelling of wet grass and ozone, a scent that lingers like it’s a secret meant only for him.

The world seems to have stepped back for once, surrendering to him a moment that doesn’t belong to anyone else.

But sure enough, that moment is shared with you.

You, who Briar catches sight of leaning against one of the stone railings. Your uniform is slightly askew, hair dampened by fog and fighting the breeze. He can’t help but notice it – how the few, thin streams of sunlight peaking through the clouds reflect off the crown of your head like a halo.

Maybe it’s you who embodies Halodyne’s ideal, and not him.

An angel amongst men – something beautiful. Something to yearn for, to crave to touch but never grasp. Something pure and wonderful, so radiant that he’s forgetting everything in a matter of moments. The schedules, the missions, the cameras, the endless expectation of perfection and sacrifice.

You’re just … well, you.

Present, alive, unaware of his lingering existence.

You’ve never noticed him. Not in the way he’s always wanted, at least – and most certainly not in the way you notice your handler. The person blessed enough to always bask in your light, a constant shadow that leashes your existence. The thought alone is enough to prick at his skin like a stubborn thorn, but Briar isn’t even certain what the emotion that follows is.

Jealousy? Envy? Maybe not for your attention, even, but for the ease at which someone can inhabit the space beside you.

That ordinary, mundane closeness that Briar can’t have.

His boots are pressing against rain-kissed stone before he even realizes, small patches of clover growing through every crevice. Their tiny leaves push upward with his every step, bounding toward you as if they, like him, recognize you as the sun. A soft tendril begins to coil around the edge of your shoe, and Briar barely manages to force its retreat.

Even here, even now, his ability betrays his heart.

But the lifting breeze brings distraction, brushing the fabric of his uniform and tugging at the strands of blonde that curl over his forehead. The faint ruffling is enough to stir your attention, light catching your profile as you turn to face him – and Briar is acutely aware of the quiet miracle of this encounter.

A moment he doesn’t mind sharing, a moment where your proximity isn’t dictated by schedules and cameras.

A small mercy to his soul, or a bittersweet reminder of all that isn’t his.

He swallows the ache in his chest that blooms into something sharper, fixating on you all too softly. Saints are built for sacrifice and spectacle, not for moments like this – yet here he is, clovers and all, finally close enough to feel your warmth without intruding.

Hesitant to try, Briar bends himself to pluck a clover from beside his foot – offering its four leaves to you like an unspoken confession.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt – I just … ah, thought it’d be nice to talk properly, for once. If that’s alright?”