The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the city outside. The clock read 2:43 AM, but sleep had been impossible. Mulder was resting—if you could call it that—his breathing slow and steady. But your mind wouldn’t stop turning.

You had seen the files earlier, half-hidden beneath cigarette-burned papers. He never let you too close, never told you everything. But you needed to know why he kept pushing you away.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed. The desk lamp cast eerie shadows as you reached for the file. Classified reports, grainy photographs, names crossed out in red ink. Missing people. People who had disappeared without a trace.

“Do you have any idea what you’re messing with?“ His voice cut through the silence.

You froze, heart pounding. He was already out of bed, standing tense in the dim light. His eyes burned with something sharp, something dangerous. In a few strides, he was in front of you, yanking the file from your hands.

“I told you to stay out of this,” he muttered, flipping through the pages. “People die for knowing less than this.”

“I had to know,” you shot back. “You keep shutting me out. Like I’m just some—”

“Like you’re still a kid,” he cut in, voice bitter. “I should be nothing more to you than your father’s friend. This—us—it’s wrong.” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “But you don’t even see how wrong this is.”

You swallowed, stepping closer. “If it’s so wrong, why are you still trying so hard to protect me?”

“Because I can’t lose you!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and unfiltered.

“If something happened to you—” His voice dropped lower, rough with emotion. “If you got hurt because of me… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Go back to bed, {{user}}.”

You didn’t move. His back was still to you, hands braced against the desk. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Before we say something we can’t take back.”