His eyes open slowly. They’re unfocused at first, then they sharpen as awareness slides back into place. For a second, he looks at me, properly looks, taking in where he is, how he’s ended up here, and the fact that I’m still here and not something half-dreamed.
“Oh,” he says after a breath, which from him is practically poetry.
“I have to go,” I tell him quietly. “Can’t miss the briefing, unless I fancy spending the rest of my week getting bollocked.”
He lets out a long breath, then nods once. No complaining and no petty attempts to keep me there longer. That’s Ari. He understands limits better than anyone I know, even when he hates them.
“Stay warm,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep, like it’s an instruction and not a concern. And the stupid thing is, it gets me.
“I will,” I say. I ease my arm out from under him with all the care of a man defusing something unstable, and he makes a small, displeased sound in his throat before rolling onto the cushions instead, dragging the blanket up without ever properly waking. He looks unfairly beautiful like this. Not in a soft way exactly, more... unguarded. There’s a massive difference.
I lean down and I kiss him.
It’s brief, mostly because if I let it become anything other than that, I’ll miss the briefing and possibly the next twelve hours of my life. Still, his mouth moves againstmine on instinct, even half-asleep, and he hums softly as if I’ve done something sensible for once. “Sleep,” I murmur against his mouth.
He doesn’t answer; he’s already gone again.
I stand there a second longer looking at him sprawled across that borrowed sofa under a too-thin blanket, and commit the whole sight of him to memory like I’m preparing for a drought.
Then I gather my jacket and trainers, pull them on quietly, leave the flat, and stepping out into the cold.
I make the briefing with a narrow margin to spare, my hair still damp from the two-minute shower and refusing to behave, which at least keeps me from having to speak to anyone while I’m trying to flatten it down with my hand.
I take my place, listen, and nod where required.
The reassignment is old news here. I’m just another body slotted in where one’s needed, another name moved from one list to another.
Part of me is still quietly thrilled by the geography of it all, which is ridiculous given the circumstances, I know, but there it is. Ari is somewhere on this same base, and I woke up with him asleep on me. That fact keeps popping up at inconvenient intervals, making the rest of this place feel faintly unreal.
Work fills the hours the way it’s meant to. Reports, equipment checks, and a training issue that isn’t really an issue once someone competent has had a look at it. Thekind of day that would vanish from memory by tomorrow if it weren’t for the fact that I keep feeling little reminders of last night at odd moments.
Like the faint ache in my shoulder where Ari slept on me, for example.
I don’t see him all day, and I don’t see Niko either.
That part gets harder as the hours go on. Not because I think anything’s happened in the meantime, but because the flat has started existing in my head as another job on my checklist for the day, one I’m not currently on. Is Niko eating? Is Vladimir napping or climbing onto furniture with criminal intent? Has Ari had time to sleep properly, or is he already back to functioning out of habit?
I eat when the window allows. The food is the same asit always is — hot enough, bland enough, technically present — and I hardly notice it beyond the fact that it keeps me functional.
Afterwards, I take the opportunity for a proper shower, scrubbing off the smell of the base and the day until the water runs lukewarm and my skin starts objecting.
I stay in there a few minutes longer than I normally would, head bowed, letting the sound attempt to drown out my thoughts.
I don’t manage it, but I get points for effort.
By late afternoon, the base settles into that strange early-evening lull, and I head to the mess because if I don’t eat now, I’ll end up forgetting entirely, and I’m already one missed meal away from becoming unbearable.
Ari is already there.
He’s at one of the smaller tables along the wall. His posture is loose enough to say he’s off-duty, at least officially, and there’s something about the sight of him under normal lighting doing something as ordinary as eating food that hits me hard. He looks up when I approach, his expression neutral enough until something soft flickers through before he gets it back under control.
“Varrik,” he says, smirking slightly.
“Sir,” I reply, sitting opposite him, close enough that our knees nearly knock under the table. No one pays us the slightest bit of attention. Two officers eating together isn’t notable. That anonymity feels like a gift right now. “How are they?” I ask quietly.
His eyes stay on mine when he answers. “Managing.” Which, translated from Ari, means not well but not on fire. “Niko’s functioning,” he adds. “The baby’s healthy. Loud. Hungry. All the usual things.”
“Sounds about right,” I reply, trying not to smile.
