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REARRANGE MY WORLD ──── K.LEEHAN

──── EPISODE FIVE OF MISSION: SAVE THE WORLD

ノ THE MISSION ✶ With being a part of a mission to disable one of the six satellites, you were assigned to Coast City with someone that was definitely different from you—Mr. Martian. You weren’t sure if you were going to get along easily, but with the determination of completing the mission, you were willing to make anything work. However, along with the process, you learned many things about your partner… and your own feelings towards him.

OR IN WHICH As much as it was difficult for Leehan to get used to Earth’s customs, nothing was more tough than learning to accept another person’s interest in him.

───── ( ASSIGNED HEROES ) Leehan as Mr. Martian x Fem!Reader as Mirage

⌕ MORE ABOUT THIS MISSION ╱ WORD COUNT 18.9K+ opposites attract, action, romance, slowburn ( ? ), mutual pining, ( some ) angst.

∿ SYSTEM ALERTS ˊᯅˋ leehan’s character is based off miss m but he goes under a different name (mr. martian) & reader uses a made up hero name (mirage), ments. of blood/fights/injuries/etc., language, some awkward dynamics, some parts could be flirty / suggestive (?), some tension, slight misunderstandings, some “denial.”

EXTRA NOTE HELLOHELLO!!! this is my submission to gill’s mission: save the world collab !! this is quite exciting since i don’t write any hero/action things often! so, i am so happy to be apart of her event and i wanted to thank her for all the work she has done for this 🤍 this also goes for the other writers in this collab too as they are JUST AS AMAZING!!!!! i hope you enjoyed my part, even as someone who is clueless about dc..

HEADQUARTERS ✦ navigation | bnd!m.list | playlist

NEW ENCOUNTERS, NEW BEGINNINGS

Twelve heroes. Six pairs. Six locations—each connected together by one mission that could decide everything: stopping The Light’s plans before they could come to life.

Your assignment was heading to the Coast City Space Museum. Your responsibility was handling the one copy of the chip. The only one in your hands—and in your partner’s.

It still hasn’t fully registered in your mind yet. The sheer responsibility of holding something so fragile, so vital, in the palm of your hand. Instead of tucking it away and constantly checking if it’s still in your pocket, you found yourself fidgeting with it—flipping it back and forth between your fingers like the tiny piece of technology might spill its secrets if you stared hard enough.

You weren’t careless, but you were definitely cautious. You couldn’t stop examining the chip, as if studying it long enough might tell you how this was supposed to work. How you were supposed to work—with him.

Your partner. Mr. Martian. Of all people.

He was… your polar opposite. He was different from you, different from anyone. A hero who had come from another world, suddenly entering Earth to fight for justice. Everything you knew about him came from whispers of his reputation, fragmented details you remembered being said among the other heroes. And yet, still, none of it told you enough to know how this was going to play out–two heroes being opposites and thrown together for a mission so crucial.

And Mr. Martian—or Leehan, as he was originally named—knew he was different from the rest. The moment he landed on Earth, nothing was familiar. Once he got into the headquarters, he had to come up with a false name on the spot, get used to speaking in a new language, and learn to follow basic human mannerisms that still felt odd to him in every way.

He was still learning. Always adapting to what was around him.

But one thing that did become a second nature within his time here: reading people. Back home, he didn’t need to study others to sense what they felt—he could simply already know. Here, though, he kept himself from reading into minds. It was more ethical, more human, to rely only on body language. And with practicing in not doing so, he would end up strengthening those skills stronger than ever.

Which meant he wasn’t able to ignore the awkwardness that hung between the both of you.

The silence filled the room, only to be broken by the quiet tapping of his foot against the floor and your slight shifting in your chair to give restless glances at the doors, as if you could prepare the bio-ship to be ready faster. Neither of you said anything, but the weight of your thoughts loomed over you—the mission, the chip, the partnership—settled heavily on your shoulders.

This wasn’t the situation you wanted to be in. Not with the silence, not with the weekend long pairing with another hero you barely knew. But, this mission was too important to even let a small mistake happen—there could be no room for hesitation.

You had to at least start something.

“Is this your first mission?” you broke the silence, finally trying to meet eyes with Mr. Martian.

He slowed his tapping, and he brought his eyes from the floor to meet yours instantly. He looked almost dumbstruck—eyes slightly widened, brows furrowed, and his lips puffed out as though he had been suddenly caught off guard.

“Me?” he pointed to himself, and your slow nod made his senses prickle with confusion. “…This is not my first. It’s my fourth, actually.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out before you could catch it. You pressed your lips together, scrambling for something to add, anything to salvage the threadbare small talk.

And wasn’t this the time where he was supposed to ask you the same thing?

“And you?” he asked, as if plucking the thought right out of your head.

“Not my first either.”

“That’s good.” Leehan shifted in his seat, leaning a little closer to the table between you both. “At least we both have some experience.”

But clearly not enough experience to keep a conversation alive.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

“Have you… been on a bio-ship before?” he asked suddenly, almost too quickly, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. His brows pinched slightly, the regret showing—he still hadn’t broken the habit of speaking in response to people’s thoughts like they were actually the words they said. He definitely needs to work on not subconsciously reading people’s minds.

Too many bad memories link to that impulse.

“I actually haven’t,” you replied with much more enthusiasm than Leehan would have expected. “Have you?”

“I have,” Leehan admitted, his tone quiet but his eyes flickering with something brighter. “It’s a vehicle I’ve used for several missions, actually. A large aerodynamic ship capable of shape-shifting into anything its users need.” He hesitated, almost shy, though the excitement lingered in his voice. “It’s a product created by Martians… like me. Something that is familiar for me here.”

And for the first time since you two sat down together, the silence that now followed didn’t feel unbearable.

“It looks like we can get more comfortable with each other soon,” you said, not quite offering a full smile, but enough to show you were softening. “I can get used to the things you know—to get to know you better.”

“To like… connect with me in a better way?” he asked carefully, almost as if he was still being wary of not ruining the mood.

“You can say that.”

As Leehan returned that smile, a chime could be heard on the device around his wrist. His gaze dropped immediately, reading the notification. The bio-ship had been cleared and stocked for departure.

“Looks like it’s time,” he said, rising from his seat and pushing the chair back into place. “The ship’s ready for us.”

You stood as well, quickly tucking the chip into a zippered pocket before following him. The energy between you wasn’t exactly smooth yet, but it was shifting—warming, if only slightly.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

PREPARATIONS TO A SUCCESSFUL MISSION

Heading to the bio-ship wasn’t a slow walk, but your steps still felt heavy and reluctant. Your stomach had twisted with that familiar pre-mission unease, though this time it felt stronger—like your nerves were warning you of something bigger than you could name.

If you felt this off already, you couldn’t imagine how well you’d hold yourself together once the mission actually began.

“You ready?” Leehan asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks. When you glanced up, he was studying you with that same steady look he’d worn earlier. You looked away again, noticing how you two were already where the bio-ship was. For a moment, you wondered if he thought you were just irritated by the silence again.

But his gaze lingered, and you could see it—the shift in his expression. The way his eyes subtly trailed on the look that you weren’t sure you had. You would’ve assumed that everyone gets anxious before a mission, but the way he was striding—shoulders straightened, steps steady—you couldn’t help but feel the odd one out. He continued to look at you, not judging exactly, but focused in a way that made your senses prickle.

For a moment, you wondered if Martians even felt their nerves going crazy like the way humans did, especially during moments like these. Or if this one in particular just didn’t allow himself to show it. It made you feel like you weren’t just only preparing for a mission—you also felt urges to study him the way he was probably studying you.

Yet, you only felt obligated to hide it. So, you nodded, quickly plastering one of those fake smiles before dropping it. Even though you tried relaxing the sudden tension in your face, he still looked at you like he already knew something.

And he did. He wasn’t mistaking it this time.

The jaw clenching. The stiffness in posture. The knitting in your brows. He noticed.

“You’re nervous,” he said quietly, more as an observation rather than an accusation.

“It would be weirder if I weren’t,” you tried playing it off, leaving a light chuckle to follow your words. But even to you, the sound wasn’t convincing. It still held that hesitation—the doubt of wondering if you could really pull this off.

Leehan subtly tilted his head, still watching you with that unblinking focus that made it impossible to hide. Seriously, these Martians were good at holding eye contact.

“Maybe,” he started off slowly, his tone being careful and controlled. “But, it just shows that you are aware of how much this matters. So, fear doesn’t always mean it’s a weakness.”

You blinked at him, not expecting an answer that was… surprisingly reassuring. It wasn’t exactly comforting nor smooth, but it felt sincere. In all honesty, clumsy was the right word for it.

“...Right,” you let out a small breath of relief—a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. “Thank you for that.”

He simply nodded, before turning toward the bio-ship. His hand hovered over the red-and-black crystalized door, fingers pressing lightly into its strange surface as though he was gathering his thoughts.

“And if you’re so worried—don’t be,” he said finally, his voice was no less than certain. “We still need to talk about our plan, after all.”

Now, you weren’t entirely sure if that was soothing enough for you to hear. If anything, it only highlighted the difference of how he works compared to other heroes. By now, you would’ve already composed a plan back when you two were waiting. But, due to the silence that you weren’t necessarily familiar with, some planning had to be done in the vehicle—which, honestly, could waste some valuable time.

“I really hope that brings me at ease.”

Sliding the door open, you peeked into the interior of the bio-ship. Leehan motioned for you to enter first, and you did. The moment your foot crossed the threshold, a breeze of cold air brushed against your ankles. The walls inside were deep red with a mix of black, their surfaces embroidered with bits of crystals that looked like they belonged as jewelry. With each step, the more you looked around, the more that you noticed the ship seemed to stretch larger than you would have had imagined.

The sliding noise of the door shutting was followed by a soft click, drawing your attention back to Mr. Martian. He was already walking toward a white stand, his movements filled with precision and confidence. You watched as his fingers moved over the surface, pressing patterns you couldn’t follow until two glowing panels of light appeared in the air.

Profiles—yours along with his—shined to life.

You moved closer, drawn by the display until you stood next to him, but still leaving room to not have the shoulder-to-shoulder contact. His eyes scanned your details while yours scanned his.

“Is this supposed to help us for the mission?” you asked, genuine curiosity seeping into your voice. You inched closer to read little bits of his powers. The more you read about his data about the abilities you only heard rumors of, your eyes still widened a little, despite yourself.

“We can learn more about each other so we can play our proper roles for this mission,” Leehan said, though his voice dipped when he caught the look of surprise on your face. His lips pressed together for a moment, as if second-guessing himself. Was it his abilities that made you react like that? “So yeah—it should. I brought up the profiles for a reason.”

You only nodded, the familiar awkward weight settling back between you.

“Shape shifting, Telekinesis, Camouflage, and Telepathy…” you murmured, scanning the glowing list and taking quick mental notes. “That’s nice.”

“Same with you,” Leehan replied, leaning in without the hesitation to glance at your side of the projection. You realized how close he had moved—close enough for your shoulders to brush if either of you moved even slightly. You stayed rooted in place, but Leehan seemed perfectly unbothered, eyes focusing on the words. “Enchanced Vision, Duplication, and Flight—” he paused, and for the first time a faint hum escaped his lips. “Oh. We have one in common. Flight.”

“Cool,” was all you managed to say, though in your peripheral vision you noticed his eyes narrowing just slightly, fixed at the top of your profile.

Was there something wrong?

“You look pretty,” Leehan said.

Your head snapped toward him. He didn’t flinch under your stare, only turning to face you more directly. His expression was still calm—too calm—but something about the air between you felt different now, heavier. But, there was no hint of embarrassment, no sign that he thought he had just said something unusual.

“…What?”

He lifted a hand and pointed at the glowing panel, where your profile picture hovered. “Your profile picture,” he clarified matter-of-factly, as though that made the words any less startling.

As if the explanation was completely obvious.

You let out an incredulous laugh, though it came out more nervous than amused. You were definitely caught somewhere in between nerves and disbelief. The way he seemed so oblivious made you wonder if you were the one twisting things in your head.

But then his gaze lingered again—longer this time—on the photo before flicking back to you. “Or…” His voice slowed, thoughtful. “Is attractive the better word?”

Yeah. Definitely not oblivious.

At least, to you.

“The first one was just fine,” you muttered quickly, instantly turning your head away from him. You forced your eyes to focus onto his profile instead, but staring at his picture only reminded you that the real thing—the person standing right next to you—was now far too overwhelming. So you dragged your gaze back to your own photo, hoping it would ground you, hoping it would settle the sudden rise of… whatever was twisting in your chest.

Leehan, however, found your response perplexing. In his mind, he had simply given you a compliment—a completely truthful one. Yet the way you tightened up, the way you deliberately avoided his eyes, left him wondering what he said wrong.

Was he too direct? Or was it said at the wrong timing?

He might have been too straight forward. But, it wasn’t as though he’d lied about what he said. And—strangely enough—watching you trying to deal with his words stirred something else inside of him.

Maybe he should tone it down.

Maybe.

…Or many he shouldn’t because seeing you react like this made him feel unexpectedly—quietly—content.

But instead of pushing it any further, Leehan decides to let it go. He gave your profile one last glance after being distracted with studying your behavior. If you listened closely enough, you might have caught him quietly repeating your real name under his breath, as if he was trying to remember it himself.

And you did hear it. But with your own decision, you chose to ignore it.

“So, Mr. Martian,” you quickly spat out, forcing the shift in the conversation as you dropped down onto one of the black leathered sofas. You only looked up briefly, catching him closing out the glowing profiles. “I think it’s time we actually plan, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

He sat beside you without hesitation, his arm close enough to brush against yours. The choice startled you—you’d expected him to take the opposite seat—but you shoved that thought aside. The mission came first, regardless of distance… or lack thereof.

“Since we are assigned to the Coast City Space Museum,” Leehan began, lifting his wrist so that another shining panel appeared for both of you to see, “I already drafted some notes from the mission briefing. We can adjust as needed.”

You leaned in, scanning the agenda from top to bottom, your eyes making sure you didn’t miss any line. Mirroring his earlier habit, you read bits of it out loud.

“The disguises would definitely be a good idea,” you replied, glancing at him. “We would blend in better. Otherwise we’d stick out and be seen with another motive.”

“I agree,” Leehan said, his eyes not leaving yours. “There will most likely be traps set around the exhibits. It’s best to act like we actually belong there.”

“Yeah, we are definitely going to have to be careful—especially if there are any innocent civilians around too. These two days would’ve been a great time to hide something in a place that people wouldn’t normally suspect.”

Leehan gave a faint smile, clearly glad you were on the same page again. He shut off the glowing panel once you finished reading, his eyes lingering on you. He noted the slight hum you made in approval, almost cataloging it away as another detail about you worth remembering.

His observation skills, it seemed, wanted to sharpen more than usual today.

“It sounds like we got a plan,” Leehan said, pleased that this was getting somewhere. “So… are you ready to change into our clothes together?”

“Ye—wait, wait,” You quickly backtracked, tripping over your own words. Your professional tone instantly crumbled into pure panic. “What do you mean together?”

You leaned back sharply, demanding for an explanation—only to realize that your knee brushed against his. The light contact sent a jolt down your spine, leaving you scrambling to pull away and lock your legs tightly together.

Meanwhile, Leehan… just sat there. Completely unbothered. That same blank expression staring back at you as though you were the one acting strange.

Did this guy even know what he was saying?

Was he even real?

“As in…” he pointed toward a section of the ship, where two identical black doors stood side by side. “The changing rooms. Our clothes should already be prepared so we don’t stand out.”

“Oh.” The word slipped out with a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Relief washed through you, your pulse slowing as your shoulders eased.

“Unless… you want to?” Leehan added suddenly, blurting it out like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tone did not carry no hesitation, no playfulness—just a matter-of-fact suggestion. If it was something you were comfortable with, then it shouldn’t be a problem to follow. At least, that’s how his reasoning went.

After all, what did he really know about human customs anyway?

Clearly… not enough.

“Not a single chance.” You shot back instantly, springing to your feet like the chair had burned you. You marched to one of the changing rooms, yanking the door open and slamming it shut just a little harder than necessary.

Leaning against the door, you pressed your palms flat against the cold surface, as if bracing yourself in case he tried to enter. Which was ridiculous—he wouldn’t.

Right?

A few seconds later, increased songs of footsteps passing outside your door, followed by the turn of a doorknob and soft click of the door right next to your rooms shutting.

You let out a shaky breath.

Maybe he really didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But the nagging voice in your head wouldn’t shut up—was it wrong for you to even think… that way about him? To be someone who is trying to make things painfully obvious? Or was he simply too strange, too unaware of how he may come across in situations like these?

For your own sake, you decided on the latter.

It didn’t take long before you forced yourself to recollect your thoughts, giving yourself a brisk little pep talk under your breath. Then, with the change to determination, you threw on the outfit that had been neatly set aside for you inside the bio-ship.

You stepped out of the changing room, adjusting the hem of your vest. Your outfit was a pair of black flared pants, a white blouse, and a fitted black vest. It looked formal but it was still comfortable, enough to blend into the Museum crowd without having to draw any suspicion.

Leehan was already seated on the sofa, posture composed, gaze lifting as soon as you appeared. His outfit mirrored yours—black trousers, though looser, paired with an untucked white button-up that made him look effortlessly put together. He offered you a thin, almost polite smile before rising to his feet.

Your instinct was to step back, your body slightly tensing before you noticed a small clear object in his hand.

“Figured we’d need to wear these earpieces for this mission,” he said, palm open, offering it to you like it was something fragile. The device gleamed under the ship’s lighting, and you reached for it quickly. Your fingertips brushed against his skin, and the fleeting contact gave you that same warm sensation again.

“In case we can’t find each other when we get separated.”

“Good idea,” you replied, putting it into your ear. Tilting your head, you adjusted the piece until it fit in just right, then finding a way to hide it from being shown. You couldn’t quite keep yourself from glancing at him as you asked, “Have you tested these yet?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, also slipping his own earpiece in the right side of his ear. “We could test it now, if you’d like.”

You pressed the side of the earpiece once, twice—waiting for a signal, a crackle, anything. All you got was silence. Across from you, Leehan tilted his head, quietly watching your every attempt before taking a slow step back, as though distance might make the test more accurate.

His lips moved. You could see the faint shape of your name on them, but nothing came through. You pressed again, harder this time, frustration threatening to creep in as your finger jabbed at the small device. Still nothing.

By the third attempt, your patience was slipping thin—until you heard hurried footsteps.

Leehan closed the space between you two in seconds. Without hesitation, he reached over for your hand, his palm warm as it settled over yours. His fingers guided yours with careful precision, pressing exactly where you hadn’t.

Your breath got caught—not because of the earpiece, but because of him.

Up close, you really got to notice how his features were impossible to ignore. Strands of his blonde hair fell just enough to frame his forehead. His brows, his eyes—even his nose seemed elegant, along with his lips looking soft—and far too close. You realized, belatedly, how long you had been staring.

A faint white glow lit up at your ear, pulling both of you back to the task at hand. Leehan’s gaze lifted to meet yours directly, and for a second, the air felt heavier than it should.

“Can you hear me?” His voice slipped through the earpiece, raspy and smooth, filling your ear in a way that felt startlingly intimate compared to hearing it out loud. His lips curved into the smallest smile, satisfied with the result.

His hand retracted, letting go of your hand slowly, before retreating a step. “Good. Let me try hearing from you now.”

You swallowed down a thousand unhelpful thoughts, only managing a quiet, “yeah,” before watching him move back across the room again.

“Hello, Mir?” Leehan's voice crackled through the earpiece, the nickname filling your chest with an unexpected feeling. Technically, it was just a shortened version of your hero name, but coming from him, it sounded… different. “Can you hear me?

“Yeah, I can hear you clearly, Mr. Martian,” you answered, your voice steadier than how you felt. From the slight low hum he let out, you could tell he didn’t approve.

“Just call me Leehan.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Your… real name?”

“Yeah,” He nodded once, as if to reassure you there was nothing strange about offering something so personal.

“...Okay. Leehan.” The name felt odd on your tongue, not quite the way he said it, but the smile that immediately spread across his face was proof enough that he didn’t mind.

“It sounds nice when you say it.”

Your stomach twisted, and you instantly blamed the air inside the bio-ship. Maybe it was the atmosphere. Or maybe it was because he was too at ease in a vessel built by his people. It definitely wasn’t you that was the problem. No way.

“I’m glad you think that way,” you replied, though your tone tilted toward uncertainty. “Comfortability between partners is always… good to have.”

“That’s why I wanted to go on the first name basis,” Leehan explained plainly. Then, he added, softer with his tone, “Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”

“I don’t mind. My name is—”

“Y/N.” He cut you off so gently that it almost didn’t feel like an interruption. “I know it.”

Your throat went dry. “That’s… good to know.”

“And it’s good for the mission too,” Leehan added. “In case we run into something unexpected at the scene.”

Right. The mission.

What were you even trying to assume?

As much as your mind wanted to spiral—analyzing, dissecting, hyperfixating—there was still a task ahead. A task you weren’t even sure the two of you could handle smoothly. If anything, this strange ease between you should have been happening already.

You forced yourself to nod, switching gears as you tapped your wrist to light up the map’s scope. Soon enough, you’d both be out there—completely responsible for handling something that, if mishandled, could devastate the world.

As you focused back into your hero mode, you came to one conclusion: there was no secret meaning behind anything Leehan had said or done.

It’s all for the sake of the mission.

“Speaking about the mission,” you mentioned, bringing back the conversation to how it should have been. “I think it would be better for us to split up from the start. That way, we waste less time looking around. If we enter together and then split midway, it could raise suspicion for anyone trying to disrupt us.”

“That makes sense.” Leehan nodded, eyes thoughtful. “It would be easier for me to shapeshift into someone else without drawing attention—even if we cross paths inside.”

“And I could duplicate you,” you added quickly. “Any form you want. They’d have their own mind, and I could command them to follow instructions.”

Leehan hummed in approval. “That would definitely work—especially since we’ve already disabled the museum’s cameras and affected its system.”

You frowned slightly, remembering something. “The only downside is that with the cameras mysteriously down, there’ll probably be more hidden threats lurking inside the place. And for duplication to work, I’d need contact first. That complicates things.”

“I am sure we can figure it out,” Leehan reassured you. “We could scout the area first. Look for a hidden spot or go to a closed room if necessary.”

You were oddly glad he stopped there. Any further, and the tension between “strategy” and “something else” would’ve been too much.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “That works.”

“Then we’re set?”

“Yeah. We’re set.”

And now, for the first time since stepping onto the bio-ship, the reassurement actually felt real and right to accept.

Now, all that was left was to see if everything would turn out well.

And hopefully, this goes down the way you two have planned it.

TWO MAKES ONE GREAT SPY

Hearing the signal from both of your wrists, the faint chime had told you two had just arrived. The once large bio-ship had already shifted down into its disguise—a car parked at the curb. From the outside, it was just another vehicle on just another day.

With the plan already decided, you took the first action.

Slipping out first, you walked down the sidewalk and pushed open the wide glass doors of Coast City Space Museum. The cool air inside instantly brushes against your skin, leaving a faint scent of metal and old paper displays. Your steps had echoed against the marble flooring, the sound quickly blending with the other footsteps in the building.

You blended in as if you had every right to be there, letting your enhanced vision take a quick sweep in the central hall. You noticed groups of people walking from exhibit to exhibit—ranging from students, families, tourists, and overall ordinary citizens. A quick scan confirmed that they were clean: no hidden spyware, no weapons, and no signs of anything or anyone suspicious that could pretend to be innocent.

At least, nothing obvious yet.

“Have you entered the building?” Leehan’s voice can be heard gently through the earpiece, low enough to feel like he was right behind you, whispering in your ear.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, turning casually down one of the side halls. “Come in.”

By your command, Leehan also slipped through the entrance effortlessly, as if he’d already mastered the undercover act on how to look ordinary.

“Where are you headed?” His voice carried steadily through the earpiece.

“To the right,” you murmured, pretending to study a wall display. “So head to the left.”

“Got you,” he replied without hesitation, heading toward the other hall.

This was your first time being at this museum. It had a strange charm—the half genuine and old artifacts and the other half being large displays to entertain the curious tourists. But, the longer you stared, the more it became harder to shake the feeling that some of these attractions aren’t just for show.

It’s The Light, after all.

You drifted further into the right wing, weaving past glass cases of meteor fragments and simplified diagrams that tried their best to explain the impossible. Families passed by you—kids pressing sticky palms against the displays while parents tried, and mostly failed, to pry them off.

Nothing out of place. Nothing suspicious.

Until your foot sank.

You stopped cold, glancing down at the black tile beneath your shoe. It wasn’t much—a square no bigger than a notebook page. At first, you assumed that this was a part of the museum’s attraction—the kind that is meant to light up the floor based on the tourists’ steps.

But, instead of glowing, you could only hear a faint click once you lifted up your foot again. You looked around, seeing a hologram projection on your left, spilling out a shimmering hologram of meteors raining down in endless loops. It looked harmless enough, an educational illusion for wide-eyed tourists. But something about it was… wrong.

The tile was too small. Too deliberate.

Too out of place.

You could’ve triggered it with just the edge of your heel, and yet it was tucked perfectly where no one would notice unless they were watching closely.

Definitely not part of the museum.

Your fingers twitched at your side as the holographic meteors reset, looping endlessly before fading back to how it was—an empty display that seemingly blended in with the rest of the pieces.

You swallowed once, then pressed your hand to your earpiece.

“Hey,” you murmured under your breath.

“Hm?” Leehan’s voice answered almost immediately, low and even, like he’d been waiting. “You called for me, Mir?”

“Well, yeah,” you replied, subtly drifting a step away from the suspicious tile. You couldn’t risk drawing attention by staring too long. “But… what’s up with using that nickname? I thought we were on a ‘first name’ basis?”

“It just stuck,” Leehan’s low chuckle buzzed in your ear, sending a ripple down your stomach. “Nothing wrong with a little nickname, right?”

“Right…” you said, though your voice trailed off, betraying your unease.

“What’d you call me for, Mir?” he pressed gently, dragging the focus back where it belonged. “Did you find something already?”

“Check the floor around you,” you murmured, eyes flicking across the exhibits, making sure no one noticed you lingering too long in one spot. “Look for a tile that feels… off. It kind of blends in, though. But, you'll know it when you step on it.”

Static, then the sound of footsteps clicking steadily over comms. You held your breath, nerves tightening with each step. For a fleeting second, you worried you’d imagined it all—that maybe you were just paranoid.

“Pressure-based,” Leehan’s voice cut through, steadier than yours. “That’s what they are, right?”

“Right, right. Did you… see one? Feel one?” you asked quickly.

“Yeah. Just triggered it,” he confirmed. “Some hologram lit up on one of the empty glass displays. You saw the same thing?”

“Yeah. Meteors, specifically, on my end,” you muttered, stepping on the tile again, watching the loop before it dimmed again. “Looks harmless enough, but this isn’t a tourist attraction. At least, I don’t think it is.”

“There’s definitely triggers disguised as some,” Leehan agreed, his voice dipping lower, as though that could shield you both from whatever was listening.

Your fingers curled into a fist at your side. “You think it signals to them that we’re here?”

“It’d be hard, considering how there’s innocent people wandering here. But, it could be one of their tacky mechanics—just enough bait to get someone to press it before they come scurrying over here.”

“We just need to figure out what it does.”

“You want me to test it?” Leehan suggested without hesitation. “I could keep pressing it, acting like I think it’s one of the museum’s interactive displays.”

That idea made your stomach churn. It felt unusually almost too reckless for you.

“No. We can’t be sure it’s harmless,” you said sharply, lowering your voice when someone brushed past you. “For all we know, pressing it again could set something off. Something we won’t be able to undo.”

“Or maybe it’s just bait. A way to see if anyone like us notices too much,” he replied, tone infuriatingly steady.

“Which is why we should ignore it for now,” you insisted. “Blend in. Come back later on another sweep. If we linger, they’ll know we’re here.”

“Not necessarily,” Leehan’s voice hummed low in your ear, calm where you were taut as a wire. “We didn’t react. They have nothing to confirm.”

“Still doesn’t hurt to be careful,” you snapped back quietly, your pulse racing faster than you wanted to admit.

“I can be careful,” Leehan countered smoothly. “But, holding it off and avoiding these won’t solve anything. We need to figure out how to disable these sensors. If it’s tied into an alert system, each press we activate could lead to an easier way to wreck it.”

You hated how he was probably right. Staring at the families nearby with their kids stomping their sneakers a little too closely to another tile—it felt dangerous. It felt like one wrong move could drag every innocent citizen into something they couldn’t escape.

And you couldn’t let that happen.

“It could,” you admitted, hesitation still clinging onto your voice.

“You know how to do that, right?” Leehan pressed. “Your enhanced vision could trace where these plates connect. Follow the wiring, see if they’re feeding into a central system. Then slip in and wreck it—just like the cameras.”

“You think that’s possible?” you asked, half-dreading the answer you were about to get.

“You won’t know unless you try.” His voice carried that same maddening calm, like he believed you’d succeed before you even did.

“Alright then,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. “Buy me time, will you, Mar?”

There was a slight pause. “Nickname based now?”

“It just stuck,” you replied, copying exactly what he had said when he gave you that sudden nickname.

Leehan found himself trying to fight back the small smile from tugging at his lips, but only a low chuckle could be heard from your earpiece.

“Sounds good, Mir.”

As civilians continued to wander, the plan had become set in motion.

You drew a short breath and steadied yourself, then let your vision sharpen. The brightly lit museum now dimmed slightly, the usual colors now draining away and the hidden layers revealed themselves. Thin lines of faint, glowing lights run beneath the museum floor, like veins under the skin, pulsing slightly with energy.

The wiring from the title you’d stepped on was easily followed by you through the flooring, in which you saw that specific line branching into a thicker one that lit brighter than the rest.

“There,” you whispered. “I see a large trail—it leads to the west wing. Past the exhibition showcasing the moon rocks.”

“Good. Follow it, but don’t draw attention,” Leehan said, calm as ever. “I’ll sweep the galleries and cover you if anything looks off.”

The glowing thread continued to fitter as you moved, forcing you to adjust your sight with each step you took. The deeper you followed the line, the more other trails of the wires and series of conduits continued to expand. You watched your steps carefully, subtly avoiding the tiles that might trigger something if pressed.

“There’s multiple tiles,” you spoke under your breath, notifying Leehan. “I believe they are all linked.”

“I’ll be careful,” he replied.

You slowed as the trail of the wires all seemed to tighten into a bundle, the glow all funneling into a compact node. As you stopped your enhanced sight, it brought you back to the sight of a service door being covered by a uniformed guard nearby, casually tapping away at a tablet. You could hear whistling from him as he blocked the door to where the system was.

“Found it.”

“Where is it?” he asked, picking up the pace of his own footsteps.

“In front of a locked room—blocked by a guard,” you said, letting your words hang. “There’s definitely a control hub behind it.”

Leehan’s voice dropped to a near-whipser through the comm. “You need me to do something?”

“I’m wary—camera system’s down, but there could be lingering eyes,” you replied, scanning the guard’s casual posture and the crowd around him.

“I can shapeshift into that guard,” Leehan offered quickly. “But I’ll need your help for one thing.”

The way he framed the request made the air tighten in your chest. “What is it?”

“Go up to them and ask for help,” he put it simply. “Act like you need directions or assistance. Then, walk down the hall as they help you, and I’ll slip in, take their place, and get to the hub.”

It seemed simple, and yet, it still held its own risks.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

You stepped closer, constructing a look to soften your expression into something polite and confused, the kind of look that people would rarely ever question. The faint crease in your brows, your shoulders rounding—it painted you as someone that was lost, rather than someone on an important mission.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was hesitant, but it was gentle to catch someone’s attention.

The guard shifted, lifting his head to glance at you. “Can I help you?”

His tone was professional, though it carried a little boredom on his part.

“Yes,” you said, weaving the careful note of frustration into your words, like you’d been wandering too long. “I’ve been trying to find a certain exhibit—the immersive virtual reality simulation?” You let the words tumble out as though you weren’t even sure you had the title right.

The guard straightened his posture a little, nodding. “You should walk down this hall,” he said, pointing casually down the very direction where you knew Leehan waited. He even stepped forward, angling his body so you could follow the direction of his hand. It left the perfect window for you to act.

As his attention strayed, your hand worked quickly, fingers brushing over the cool metal of the lock behind him. You gave the mechanism a quick twist, a tug—practiced efficiency where each click of the resistance of the lock weakened under your touch.

“And then turn to your right, then left,” the guard added, completely oblivious to what was happening behind him.

You pressed on before he could pull back, shifting your tone to something softer, more vulnerable. “I actually tried asking someone else earlier,” you confessed, lowering your gaze for effect. “But I still couldn’t get there… I must be terrible with directions.” You looked back up, lashes fluttering slightly, letting a subtle nervous smile play at your lips. “Would you… maybe walk me there?”

There was a pause—a heartbeat in which his eyes lingered on your face, reading your expression. The corner of his mouth tugged faintly before he nodded. “Sure,” he agreed, his tone slipping unconsciously into something warmer, softer.

That was your confirmation. The little performance had landed, his attention tethered firmly to you while your other hand delivered the last quiet twist to the lock, loosening it just enough for Leehan to do the rest of his part unseen.

You let him lead the way, trailing slightly behind the guard as though you really were there to follow his guidance. He chatted idly, words tumbling into the air about the museum attractions, the city, and how busy the day must’ve been. You nodded at the right times, offering soft hums of acknowledgment, and even managing a few polite smiles—yet your mind wasn’t on him.

Your focus was trying to locate a small movement in your peripheral vision, holding the knowledge that Leehan was close, watching, waiting for the moment to perfectly slip into place. Every step you had taken was calculated, every glance stolen toward a nearby corner was a search for him.

The guard would’ve naturally assumed he was escorting a lost tourist. But, in reality, he was just walking straight into the middle of your own plan.

You pressed the edge of your earpiece just enough to route the tiny conversation feed to Leehan—quiet, but secure. The comm hummed faintly against your skin; his voice was a low thread at the back of your skull, intimate and impossible to ignore.

“Wish you could speak to me like that,” he whispered, amusement softening his words. You felt heat crawl up your neck. Even through the comm, his tone had gone playful. “Didn’t know you could pull that.”

“Be quiet,” you muttered, forcing the word to come out breathy and distracted so the guard wouldn’t notice. “It’s just for the plan.”

“I know, I know,” Leehan answered, backing off into business. “I saw you two, by the way.”

“When?” you asked, keeping the question low and even. You still toned down your own voice, which when the guard’s eyes flicked between you and the exhibit ahead, he did not sense anything from you other than a lost visitor.

“When you were focused on replying to him,” he said, a tiny lift in his voice once he let those words out.

“Oh.” You let the single syllable fall, then forced yourself to smile at the guard.

“Why?” he asked through the comm, his curiosity lingering.

“Did you… want to see me?” he pressed, the question teasing.

“Other than hearing this guy speak?” you asked, forcing a small laugh as you answered the guard, then angled your voice low so only Leehan would catch it. You had no idea how long this detour would take, but you prayed it would be long enough for him to finish his part. “Then, yeah.”

“That sounds oddly nice to hear,” Leehan replied through the comm, padding beside you as he matched the guard’s stride. His tone was light, but there was a softness under it you weren’t used to—an almost private warmth that made your chest tighten. “Too bad your attention can’t stay on me for too long, so I’ll be quick.”

You kept your hum in response small, keeping your face blank and distracted for the guard’s benefit. The corridor smelled faintly of polish and warm plastic, the lights hummed above, too bright and ordinary. “You better be,” you said, the words clipped but not unkind.

By the time you had turned the corner, Leehan had already memorized the guard’s build, facial structure, and uniform by the time his back was turned. He hurriedly went to a clear section of the corridor, shifting seamlessly without the eyes of any other visitors or guards. His features easily shifted into the guard’s form, mirroring exactly what he wanted to appear as.

It felt almost too easy.

But, knowing that it might not take long for the guard to actually come back, he fastened his own footsteps.

The lock wasn’t much of an obstacle anymore—your work was quite evident of that. Leehan’s gaze lingered on the scratch marks etched around the knob, the subtle twist in the metal from where you’d forced it. His mouth curved, faint but genuine.

You’d thought ahead. You’d made it easier for him.

For all his Martian training and talents, there was something grounding about knowing you were quietly watching out for him in your own way.

“I just arrived at the exhibit, you should hurry,” your voice cut in through the comm, calm but edged with urgency. It snapped him back into the rhythm of the mission, pulling his mind from that small, human comfort.

Without wasting another second, he slipped into the room. Inside, the room had hummed faintly with power. There was a central hub placed in the center of the room, its surface crowded with tangled wiring and rows of blinking lights. He instantly got to work, fingers working quickly, acting with every fragment of training he had memorized.

A few careful presses. Few twists, few pulls. The lights were now flattering, The bright blinking had slowed. Then silence carried out through the room.

The pressure tiles were off.

Leehan moved swiftly, slipping back out through the door, shutting it softly. He let his stride carry him toward the opposite side of the hall. If the real guard were to return, they would not be able to cross paths.

At least, not at that moment.

“I disabled it,” he said into the comm, his tone even but underpinned with quiet satisfaction. “Sensors are gone, and they should be offline still even from the moment we actually find the satellite.”

“Okay, good,” came your reply. The relief in your voice was subtle, but enough. That was both enough for everything and nothing, but it was enough to actually get a move on. “I’m glad you got this done quicker than other people would’ve.”

And for a brief, fleeting moment, Leehan let himself savor the thought that he had done more than disable a system. He had kept pace with you—matched your rhythm, even eased your burden—and the thought filled him with a warmth he didn’t fully understand.

A warmth he feels like he shouldn’t be feeling.

Even if he tried to hide it—to force it away by focusing on making his steps to stay steady—it still continued to linger in his chest. It was a feeling that was supposed to feel comforting, yet it scared him more than anything.

He hasn't felt this way before.

“Signs all seem to be clear on this floor, so meet me on the second floor,” you instructed, your eyes still scanning the glass cases and polished displays for anything that meant to be hidden yet it still stood out. But, you could only notice people speaking to one another that they were leaving the place. “The visitors seem to be leaving now, so it’s best to quickly carry out our plan before it’s too noticeable that we are here for an entirely different motive.”

“Let’s sweep the planetarium?” Leehan suggested, voice soft but sure.

“Yeah.”

“On my way,” he replied as he turned down the next hall. He halted after a few steps though, voice lowering so that only you would hear through the comms. “Also, nice performance back there. You looked and sounded… conveniently lost.”

“No need to mention it,” you muttered, forcing your focus to latch onto the map of the museum in your mind instead of the faint heat crawling up your neck. It wasn’t like you to falter over quick and rapid fire compliments, to let praise seep into your skin—but from him, it felt heavier. It felt as though he hadn’t just been only talking about it for the mission.

You were confusing yourself more than he was confusing you.

You forced your attention forward, toward the planetarium where the real danger might wait. Still, a piece of you couldn’t help but replay his tone, quiet and deliberate, as though the words had been meant only for you.

“Let’s just scope the second floor to see if there’s anything dangerous or out of place,” you said, bringing the attention back for both of your sakes—or, more honestly, for your own.

“You got it.”

You took the elevator while Leehan insisted on the stairs, his voice still clear in your ear even as you ascended separately. The moment you stepped onto the floor, you knew something was off.

The second floor was empty. Eerily quiet. The previous crowds of children hovering over the displays with their parents accompanying them to tourists snapping pictures of new exhibits were gone. Instead, there were only a few visitors left that seemed to rush into the elevator you took. With the flickering looks they exchanged with the guards, it was obvious how they could have sensed the tension too.

The echo of your shoes on the polished tiles filled the place much quicker than chatter could.

Your gaze instantly swept through the perimeters of the floor. It was easy to point out how there were more guards present here than in the lobby, either roaming around or staying like statues near the exhibits or closed doors.

The obvious ones were the ones that seemed like it was their first time having an important role in this plan. One leaned against a railing, but his posture was too stiff, his eyes scanning the crowd every few seconds. Another pretended to check his watch but kept shifting his weight like he was waiting for a cue.

Something was definitely up here.

“More guards, more dead giveaway answers,” you whispered into your earpiece, slowing your steps so you didn’t look like you were avoiding them. “They aren’t as slick as they seem.”

“We can’t be that obvious yet,” Leehan’s voice came steady in your ear, grounding you. You imagined him pacing with that same collected expression he always carried, scanning angles you couldn’t see. “Scope around the floor first, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, though the sound barely disguised the pressure that was building up in your chest. “It’s just… a huge floor. Even enhanced vision might take a while to sweep through everything—especially without knowing exactly what kind of mechanisms they’re using.”

You forced yourself to stroll past a towering model of the space shuttle in the night sky exhibit, eyes lingering on its shining white frame, but your mind was already darting to look beneath the surface, imagining the hidden systems humming just out of sight.

“You don’t need to stress yourself out, Mir,” Leehan said softly, close enough to where you could feel the warmth of his presence without even looking. He was only a few feet away—a distance that wasn’t obvious yet it felt small to you. “Doing this won’t help us save anyone. We’re in this together, okay?”

It was impossible not to notice how different you two were in moments like these. If anything, the differences only made you feel like you could admire them—admire him. You know you’re the type to always panic, always having thoughts of your missions turning out the opposite from what you expected it to be. You were like a tight bundle of worry, masked with a seemingly confident demeanor.

But, with Leehan? He outwardly was composed in a way that matched whatever he felt inside. He always seemed to be aligned with his thoughts and his own plans. Those qualities unavoidably stood out, and in the weirdest way, they became exactly what you needed.

You thought of the times where someone would tell you to “relax” as if it were that simple. No one had ever bothered to linger within reach without desperately asking for something in return. No one has stayed a couple of feet away, ready to step in when you need it.

His presence no longer carried the weight of a stranger being assigned to work beside you. It now felt familiar, almost unsettlingly so—as if he was someone you had always known beyond the mission.

He was more than the quiet rumors other heroes whispered about him in passing, more than the blunt remarks he was known for. Beneath all of that was someone who deeply cared, though in ways that weren’t outright or obvious.

Simply in his own ways that reminded you that he was someone you could rely on.

He was more than what you thought of him. More than the opinions you had built up about him. And in that space with what you assumed and what you were learning, you realized how seamlessly you two fit together—even as first time partners.

No one has ever made you feel like this before.

And Leehan could only say the same.

In the past few hours, he knows that he’s been more attentive to you than what protocol required. He was careful, yes, but also more curious—drawn to you in a less professional way. He was aware of your enhanced vision, of how it might catch the smallest flickers of his closeness, yet he didn’t pull back. If anything, he allowed himself to remain within your reach on purpose, unspoken but deliberate.

In all his time working alongside human heroes, no one had pulled his focus like this. He felt gravitated by whatever force you had—he was heavily convinced that there was something magnetic about you.

It was something that made him want to be pulled even closer to you. A feeling that wasn’t centered around his duty, but mainly you.

It was supposed to be a comfortable feeling. It should have felt easy—the feeling where two people could trust the other to do their part. That was the entire point for partners: to make the difficult things less burdensome together. Instead, Leehan’s chest could only be twisted in deeper knots every time he thought about it.

His own discomfort did not root from the idea of you being untrustworthy. If anything, it was the opposite. You filled in the parts that he didn’t have. You were an expert in the ways that mattered.

Too perceptive. Too steady. Too caring.

And it only frightened him more than any other threat on a mission he ever had. Because the more he let your presence become familiar—the more he let you in—the closer you’d be able to see the parts he worked so hard to keep hidden.

His skills went beyond what was labeled on that online database. It painted to make his abilities as neat when it was actually messier than what it shows. There were things he has done here that he continues to regret here. There were things he’d done on Mars and things he’d refrained from doing here that left lingering trails in his memory.

The catalog couldn’t hold the weight of those decisions. So, really, the short descriptions of his powers were a simple front to have the others accept him as a normal person.

If anyone saw everything of him—looking deeper into the powers that were obviously displayed but he couldn’t help but protect—what would they do? Most importantly, what would he do if anyone knew?

Even words on a screen wouldn’t be enough to hide his true abilities once people work with him. Leehan knows what he’s capable of and he surely doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

He doesn’t want to hurt you.

That thought of hurting you landed on him heavier than he expected.

The whole idea—of making someone go through what he has done in his past—was a loop he’d try not to spiral into. He had learned to be careful with distance, with names, with trust. Yet you were different. Your presence felt like a key, slowly unlocking those parts of him where he had no idea of how to follow the protocol to not let you see those parts.

Leehan doesn’t want to relive the past. He doesn’t want to follow through with his past actions. Not even for his own benefit and definitely not against the people he cares about.

Or love.

Love?

That word happened to hover, absurd yet still sharp. He’d listen to humans dropping it carelessly in movies or overhear people use it too casually in the corridors. Leehan remembers that he documented it as a simple human quirk that linked to people’s own emotions or actions.

But, he still doesn’t believe that this feeling could be so intense.

He hadn’t expected it to one day translate into the heat beneath his ribs, the heat transferring enough to seep on his skin and leave a weight in his throat that made stabilizing his breath a huge effort.

“Hello?” your voice cut through, way softer and calmer than his racing thoughts. It had a soothing quality that made the nerves temporarily stop jumbling all up in his head. “Mar?”

That nickname was a small, casual—something so simple but human—and it unsettled him in the gentlest way.

Does he… love you?

That question felt ridiculous and impossible at the same time. It carried no proof, only an abundance of sensations he didn’t know how to sort out. But, he couldn’t pinpoint the fluttering in his stomach, the attention lingering onto everything you did, and the reluctance to step away even when distance felt safer.

“Leehan, are you listening?” Your voice pushed him back toward the present, crisp with duty. He realized, with a small, shocked awareness, that his hand had moved to his chest—an unconscious attempt to quiet the sudden, unfamiliar hammering spreading across his chest. His heart was racing in a way training hadn’t taught him to handle yet.

Oh no.

“Yeah, yeah—no, I’m listening,” he responds back, completely flushed on his own—even though he realizes how his tone is way different from what he usually portrays.

“Why did you zone out like that?” you asked, watching him step away as if the air had suddenly shifted into something that became too hot. You opened your mouth to press further with your questions, but you then cut yourself off. “We can’t have that on a mission.”

Leehan didn’t argue. His shoulders only slightly dropped—a silent surrender that said he’d already caught himself. He shouldn’t be distracted now. Not with guards lingering the perimeters.

He shouldn’t be acting like this on a mission.

“Sorry,” Leehan could only utter, letting the word slip out thin. His mind was still pounding with things he couldn’t say aloud, but he continued to latch onto your voice like it was going to keep him in place. He paused, lifting a handle to rub his temple like it was going to help him push away from the spiral of his thoughts. “What were you saying?”

“Two to three guards posted around each hallway. Spread out. Easier to take down one-by-one if we split and push.” Your eyes scanned the floor as you spoke, repeating your words as well as measuring the situation. You watched guards be near the railings, some leaning too close to service doors—cataloguing their positions as you talked.

“Then, let’s get to action,” he rushed into the plan, snapping back quicker than you’d expected. For the short time you’d worked with him, he had always been the one calming you, grounding your nerves with that quiet assurance he seemed to wear so naturally. Now, though? His words tumbled out faster, rougher, as if he was trying to outrun something that was invisible to you.

This was unlike him. If anything, it felt like the roles reversed this one time. Instead of moving with the familiar rhythm he used to soothe you, he was matching the rhythm you’d been trying to tame yourself.

“It’s easier for the other guards to scurry over to fight us all at once, though,” you pointed out, your gaze skimming along the corners. The enhanced clarity of your vision sharpened on the small rectangular objects clipped inside their jacket pockets. “They’ve all got sensors on them. One press, and the rest will know.”

“Right,” Leehan muttered.

You glanced at him. Normally, this was the moment where he’d seize control with the safest option: a clean shapeshift, silent infiltration, a neat solution. But now? He seemed too still. Too quiet.

“So… you could shapeshift as a ‘head guard,’ right?” you pushed, keeping your tone even. “Say you’re checking their sensors. Blend in, collect intel. Or…” You gave a faint shrug. “We go the old-school way.”

“Old-school way?” His head tilted slightly, almost like he needed you to spell it out.

“Fight them head on,” you said flatly, letting the bluntness carry the weight.

His brows knit together. “And what if they call for more backups?”

“Then we find the target first, take them down fast, and disable whatever’s inside before reinforcements can flood in,” you answered, careful to measure your words. You knew how fragile a plan could be if it frayed under panic.

Leehan finally hummed to keep up, but his agreement felt slow. “Sounds good. Do you still want me to shapeshift and collect the sensors first?”

You smirked despite yourself. “Well, now that I said it—fighting them head on feels funnier than that.” Your voice held a little more confidence than before, showing something that wasn’t so evident earlier. “And plus, we have flight, remember? Easy sweep in, easy sweep out. Hopefully.”

The words felt strange coming from you, but in a good way. The usual choke of nerves had finally loosened, being replaced by something sharper. The adrenaline didn’t sting anymore—it now feels almost addictive. This was the part you secretly craved—the unpredictability, the thrill of moving faster than fear could catch you.

The longer you were here, the more you got used to it.

That’s what you loved about being a hero. Even if you never outrightly show it.

Leehan could only blink slowly, trying to register your words. Reckless. It was a label that didn’t fit the careful person he believed himself to be.

Were you really that type to be reckless?

You—this version of you—hadn’t been reckless before; you’d been precise, hyperaware. But, really, did he even know you well enough to know what kind of a person you were?

“What do you say, Leehan?” you asked again, your voice filled with determination. “You in?”

It seems like he doesn’t.

He hesitated, handling a small internal battle that you couldn’t see. Even with the way his jaw tightened, he finally eased his own body. “I’ll follow your command.”

He gave you the briefest tilt of his head toward the corridor you were already watching. That was the signal; you returned it with a small nod and let your gaze lock on the cluster of guards ahead. You scanned to see the thin wires of circuits glowing slightly underneath the tiles again, along with the small outline vibrations from the sensors and faint outlines of the guards scattered across this floor.

It was an obvious tactic that you’d look for the biggest crowd, but you knew that it was necessary. When there were more guards, there were usually more secrets.

That cluster of people you were seeking were behind a heavy maintenance door. It was too obvious, too guarded… and yet it was perfect. By going in that direction, you were definitely going to get closer.

Fortunately, to save some time, Leehan had already swiped a copy of the keys earlier in his shapeshift disguise, so entry wouldn’t be a problem. Without drawing any attention, you two acted like visitors, matching each other’s pace as you walked practically shoulder to shoulder.

At the door, he slipped his hand into his pocket for the keys, but one nearly slipped through his fingers — the faint clink of metal against metal ringing sharper than it should have in the hushed exhibit hall. A pair of guards glanced your way.

Thinking fast, you whistled, low and offhanded, like a bored tourist trying to fill the silence. Your eyes flicked deliberately toward the nearest display case—a random moon poster—and you eyed it to “study” the art as though it deserved all your attention. It wasn’t the perfect cover, but it was enough; the guards dismissed you after a few seconds too long.

Behind you, Leehan finally slid the right key in. As he worked the lock, his fingers brushed against yours. The contact was fleeting, almost careless, but it left a lingering warmth on your skin. He tapped twice—a signal that showed that the job was done—before withdrawing his hand.

And that’s when the absence hit you. The sudden lack of touch hit deeper than the moment itself, something uninvited curling in your chest before you shoved it down.

Feelings could wait.

The mission could not.

It was time.

Without leaving a second to waste, you shot into the air without hesitation, bits of energy bursting out with a ripple of rose. Leehan rose beside you, perfectly in sync, the two of you cutting through the stale air of the museum. Within seconds, you descended hard in front of the guards stationed in the exhibit room, the impact echoing like thunder against marble floors.

Their hands twitched toward the small sensors clipped inside their pockets, but you were already moving. A sharp twist, a sweep of your hand, and the tiny devices were yanked free. Leehan mirrored you with instant precision, his movements fluid enough that it almost looked rehearsed from the day before. One by one, the sensors clattered against the far end of the hall, harmless and out of reach.

One of the guards lunged forward, a baton pulled out from his belt in practiced motion. A swoosh followed with the speed of his swing, but you quickly slid to the left, your boots skidding across the smooth floor. His strike ended up hitting nothing but the empty space. In one fluid motion, you caught his wrist, twisting it sharply until his balance faltered. With a grunt, you yanked him forward and slammed his body hard against the ground, the echo ringing through the exhibit like a dropped stone.

The man groaned, his grip faltering just long enough for you to rip the baton from his hand. You flipped it in your grip before sending a sharp kick to his side, forcing him to roll away and stay down.

Just in case.

Across the room, Leehan was instantly a blur of movement. He’d taken to the air for a split second, enough to throw his opponent off-balance with his unpredictable angles. The guard’s eyes darted upward, trying to follow, but it was a mistake. By the time the man adjusted, Leehan was already behind him, landing down silently as a fallen feather. His hand clamped onto the rough fabric of the uniform, gripping tight at the shoulder. With a brutal twist and a sharp tug, Leehan yanked the guard backward, dragging him down in one swift motion. The man’s legs buckled as his back hit the floor, his breath leaving him in a stunned gasp.

But there was no pause. The shuffle of boots echoed down the hallway, and more guards rushed into the exhibit, weapons already drawn.

The guards did act fast, but you and Leehan were faster.

The baton you’d retrieved from the first guard became an extension of your arm, every swing keen and deliberate. You drove the momentum forward, forcing the others to stumble back step after step, their boots scraping against the polished floor as they struggled to keep up.

Each time you had connected your hits, the crack of metal could be heard against their body parts. You were able to land clean on exposed spots—the sudden hit on the stomach, the jolt of their arm being forced backward, and the smack against their thighs that buckled with the applied pressure.

It was noticeable to see their defense fraying, the movement of their counterattacks growing messier by the second.

Whenever they tried to hit back, you would easily duck, feeling the breeze just brush past above your head. Immediately straightening your posture, you finally got a good hit, a sharp strike from the baton you’d stolen. You smacking the weapon onto one of the guard’s knees caused him to jerk back with the sharp impact.

As that guard crumpled from your kick, you quickly handled the other one by kicking him. The crack of his sensor sparking under your heel confirmed that the device was wrecked.

It was a small victory, but there was no time to savor it.

You pivoted back into stance, baton raised, eyes locked on the group in front of you.

What you didn’t focus on was hearing a steady thrum of boots growing louder behind you. Those sounds were blocked out due to the chaos in front of you—a tune out of place.

But, Leehan heard it. He noticed the guard trying to sneak attack you.

He didn’t waste any time thinking. His pulse spiked as the new guard closed in, aiming low and ready to grab your legs. In an instant, Leehan lunged, his form a complete blur, intercepting the strike before it could be made. His shoulder crashed into the man’s chest with enough force to rattle the wall, the impact sending a dull tremor through the room.

The guard gasped, air punched out of him, but Leehan didn’t give him time to recover. His hand darted down, fingers curling around the baton clipped to the guard’s belt. With one sharp yank, he tore it free, the weight of the weapon settling into his grip.

“Behind you,” he said—low, urgent, though his actions had already told you everything. “Be careful.”

The guard struggled against him, trying to push back, but Leehan’s stance was iron. His gaze flicked toward you for half a breath—along to check if you were safe, but also more to make sure you saw how close it would have been.

“Thank you,” you huffed, swinging back into stance as the rush of near-danger ran hot in your veins.

From the corner of your eye, you caught Leehan glancing your way between strikes. His eyes, usually unreadable, were sharp and locked in, lips tugged into the faintest curl—not a smirk, not just amusement. It was something heavier. Something that felt like approval.

That single look hit harder than the attempted strong hits by the guards itself. A squeeze in your chest that was subtle but undeniable, like your heartbeat tripped over itself before snapping back into proper rhythm. You forced yourself to refocus, jaw setting, lungs pulling in a steadying breath.

It was a reminder that pushed you into handling the guards present. The tightened grip on the stolen baton led to each swing landing becoming cleaner and sharper. The guards continued to fall under the crack of your blows.

They couldn't keep up with the speed you’d suddenly snapped into, seemingly amping up the amount of strength you had already displayed.

Along with your pace, Leehan always knew how to match it. Without needing to share a word, his hits always synced with yours. Every time one tried to corner either of you, you both would know when to cut them off without hesitation.

It was as if that brief exchange—your thanks, his glance—had sharpened both of you.

As he served the last hit, the last guard fell with a thud that echoed through the exhibit hall. He exhaled, chest rising and falling in shift exhaustion. The floor was littered with bodies—groaning figures hunched over in pain, others sprawled still from where they’d fallen.

When his gaze finally returned to you, he caught the contrast. You seemed like someone in good shape—standing upright, baton loose in hand, and not even winded up like the way he was.

“Thank god our clothes are still in one piece, huh?” you joked lightly, meeting his eyes with a glint and a small smile.

The corner of Leehan’s lips twitched into something unreadable. “I wouldn’t hate the idea of it not being that.”

Your mind stuttered, body freezing half a second too long. Malfunction. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“It’s not the time for your jokes,” you muttered quickly, shrugging past it before the heat in your chest would betray you again.

“You’re right,” Leehan said evenly, eyes shifting down the long hallway you hadn’t been able to reach yet as it was blocked off by the sheer number of guards. His tone now dropped, “You go ahead.”

“What?”

“You go ahead—I’ll handle these guards.”

“They’re already down,” you countered, scanning the whining pile of men near his feet.

“There’s… extra measures I need to take.” His voice lowered further, so quiet it was nearly a growl. “For the both of us.”

“...But—”

He lifted a hand and tapped his earpiece, a subtle reminder. His eyes softened, steady but insistent. “I’ll be there. I promise.”

“...Okay,” you finally breathed out, forcing your legs to carry you forward. Each step felt heavy, your feet dragging slightly against the floor. Instinct made you glance back, but Leehan hadn’t moved. He stood rooted where you’d left him, framed by fallen guards, offering you a smile you couldn’t quite catch in full before distance blurred it away.

The farther you went, the tighter your chest grew.

You were worried.

A part of you wanted to stop, to argue again that you should stay together—that two was safer than one. But, trust was the only thing you had right now—not time. He was trusting you to continue forward, and you had to trust him to keep his word intact.

All you could do was continue on. And let him trust you to find that satellite.

A PROMISE IS A PROMISE

Leehan’s eyes tracked the hallway, watching until your figure disappeared around the corner. Only then did his shoulders drop, his expression hardening as he turned back to the work he didn’t want you to see.

He crouched beside one of the groaning guards, fingers brushing against the man’s temple before easing his eyelids shut. Leehan pressed his palm flat against the guard’s forehead. A spark shivered through his skin, and his own eyes flared white before bleeding into a steady, eerie green.

That was the cue.

His vision shifted, no longer the room around him but a flood of flickering fragments—the guard’s memories, scattered like shards of glass.

Training drills. Patrols. The blur of your face. His own. The fight just moments ago.

He continued to select them one by one, prying them loose from his brain. Each chosen fragment now dimmed, quickly dissolving into nothing. The guard’s memories from what was known or seen was now smooth, scrubbed clean.

When Leehan finally pulled his hand back, the man slumped limply to the ground.

This should have felt satisfying. Reassuring. It was power—the kind others would have dreamed of.

To have the power to rewrite, to erase, to decide.

But it only made him feel hollow. Horrible.

This was why he’d sent you ahead. Why he’d smiled, why he’d promised. To not only reassure you—to protect you from this. From the proof that he was more dangerous than you realized.

People had told him before: you seem harmful. And he’d believed them. How could you not, if you ever caught him like this?

Even if he despised it, he couldn’t stop. Not tonight. For the mission. For your safety.

If he couldn’t hide this power from himself, he could at least hide it from you.

He needs to hurry to get to you as soon as possible.

You hurried down the hall, the faint shimmer of your enhanced vision pulling you forward like a thread of light. It led you to a faint glow near the wall, and when you blinked out of the trance, you almost doubted what you’d seen.

At first glance, it was nothing more than an ordinary wall—smooth, nondescript, designed to vanish into the background. No tourist, no guard, no one, would suspect a thing.

Cautiously, you pressed your palm against it. To your surprise, it gave beneath your touch, caving in slightly. Your pulse quickened. With more force, you shoved, and the illusion broke—the wall swung inward, heavy steel masked in plain sight.

A perfect trap. Hidden. Intentionally invisible.

Beyond it stretched a new path, the walls shifting from polished white to raw gray metal. The faint glow ran along the right side, guiding the way to lead you further down.

You glanced around one last time, marking the signs overhead, then pressed two fingers against your earpiece.

“Head down the same hall I went through—make a left, straight, then left again, then right. Look for a wall on the side that caves when you press it. That’s the door.”

Static hummed. Then, muffled noises from his end. The dull thud of footsteps. A shuffle, then nothing.

“Got it,” his voice finally crackled through. And then—silence.

For your own reassurance, you assumed that he was busy continuing his part.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to keep moving, though unease prickled down your spine.

You slipped inside and swung the door shut with a deliberate thud. The metal felt heavier than it looked. Turning your focus on the lock, you activated your enhanced vision again—except this time, instead of peeling back layers of sight, your gaze sharpened, a flash of red bursting from your eyes.

Twin beams burned into the steel, heat rippling off the lock as it warped, edges hissing and running like molten wax. You tilted your head carefully, tracing the seams until the mechanism sagged and sealed in place, fused beyond repair. The harsh smell of scorched metal lingered in the air.

Once you were satisfied with how no one could force their way in without a fight, you turned your back to head to the glowing light.

Each step you drew closer—the light only intensified until you saw the source yourself.

You saw a control panel, along with the screen with a countdown, the numbers being blazed in red.

This was a countdown before the satellite takes its place on its world if not taken care of.

Your pulse kicked into high gear, but your hands moved without hesitation. Reaching into your suit, you pulled out the chip, its edges gleaming in the cold glow. Untouched. Untainted. Ready.

This was it.

The chip slid into place with a faint click, and the console was now whirring to life. The protective measures and the biometric scans surged across the screen. However, one by one, they all collapsed, passing through the hidden recognition features.

The countdown had now vanished, replaced with a white loading bar crawling across the display.

For the first time in what felt like hours, your chest loosened. A sharp breath rushed out of you, a slight pain that followed with the suddenness. But, you felt relief—fragile, but comforting.

Numbers ticked upward.

5% … 18% … 34%.

The sound of the system’s low hum filled the silence, too loud in comparison to the absence of footsteps or loud shouts. Every passing second stretched impossibly long, the bar’s slow crawl daring you to trust it.

Still, you let your shoulders drop into a slight slump, the glow from the screen painting your face in paler light.

There was progress.

At last.

The numbers crawled up the bar—41%… 47%… 52%—and the silence pressed in on you until your fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against your thigh. Then the room changed. A keening alarm ripped through the air, lights flipping from white to a bright red. The floor vibrated, leading you to stumble as you clapped a hand over your ear even as the sound rattled through your bones.

It must be alerting them that something was happening with the console.

The door you’d welded shut with your vision held like a promise of safety, metal fused and immovable. That thought should have supported you, but the wail and the flashing lights did the opposite: they turned every second into a countdown.

You were the only person here. Leehan was still not here.

You instantly jabbed your earpiece, voice raw. “Leehan,” you shouted into the comm, letting go each time to repeat it, forcing the words out so he wouldn’t be blinded by the siren on your end. “Leehan? Are you there?”

“Y/N?” His voice came back almost immediately, breathless and close with footsteps. “Are you okay? What happened?” The undercurrent of panic in his tone made your lungs clamp.

“My—” You swallowed against the roar. You kept your eyes on the screen, staring at the numbers slowly going up. “The console’s alerted. Sirens are up. The door’s sealed. I can’t—you might be in danger.”

There was a scuffle, a muffled shout on Leehan’s end, then his voice again, lower and urgent. “Listen to me. I’m close by. I just need to walk down this hall again and turn right like you said.”

“Where are you?” You forced steadiness into your voice, but the siren tore through it. “You said you’d be here—I sealed the door not knowing this would happen. I’d open it for you, but if I do, we won’t get this shut in time and it’ll be worse.”

“I got delayed.” His breath hitched. “There were more guards than I expected. I had to… take care of them. I’m moving now. Stay with the console. If anything flashes red or the loading stalls, hit the bigger green button on your left—three quick presses, then hold. That will force a manual purge but it overheats the system. Don’t do it unless you need to abort.”

You hummed an answer and forced your fingers steady over the override panel, mind racing.

Try not to abort. Watch over the console.

The bar crawled to 72%.

The room felt impossibly small.

“Then stay where you are. Hold on,” he said.

“What about you?” panic rose immediately, every syllable sharp. “There have to be more reinforcements this time—you’re going to get hurt.”

“I’ll keep watch. I won’t let anyone get near your room,” he promised, voice low and urgent over the wail of alarms. You could hear him moving—hurried steps—like he was already placing himself between you and whatever was coming. “I’ll manage.”

Leehan’s worry for you was palpable, even through the comms. He sounded more tense for your safety than for his own. Just as you had no clear idea of what waited beyond the walls of your sealed room, he didn’t know what lay on the other side either. He couldn’t see through your eyes, and the uncertainty gnawed at him just as it did at you.

What if there were traps?

The thought of it continued to prickle at his mind, hurrying his own pace to get to you sooner. He had seen enough, anticipated enough, but there was no predicting every hidden mechanism in this place.

You being in that room alone with sirens blaring was proof that anything could be concealed in this museum with the work they had done.

He knew your capabilities—knew that you were more than enough to handle yourself—but that knowledge didn’t stop the irregular rises of worry in his chest. It didn’t stop him from imagining a scenario where a split second could make the difference between you being unharmed and being caught in a trap you hadn’t foreseen.

And so, despite the tension in the hallways, the alarms screaming, and the possibility of reinforcements, he stayed vigilant—he had to.

The only thing supporting him was this one thought he couldn’t shake.

He couldn’t let anything happen to you.

You didn’t want anything to happen to him. The progress bar—87% now—numbers were barely slowly increasing. Your mind was crowded with images of Leehan out there, moving through the unknown, potentially running into reinforcements or other hidden traps. The sirens had slowed slightly, but the harsh wail still pierced the room in sharp bursts, rattling the steel walls and making your heart jump with each blare.

“Leehan,” you called again, desperation threading through your voice, tighter than it had ever been before. “Are you there?”

“I’m outside the door—hear this.” Light knocks were sounded, and the small, deliberate gesture was enough to confirm he was there. Relief washed over you in a rush, though it was immediately tangled with worry. Can he really stay safe out there?

“Okay,” you managed to say, your voice shaking just slightly. “Is there anyone around?”

“Not yet,” he replied, scanning the area as best he could. “I don’t know if anyone is lurking.”

“Hopefully they don’t appear soon—” Your eyes flicked back to the screen. 89%. The bar edged closer to completion, each percentage raise easing one of your nerves before it overpowers you again. “It’s almost there.”

“That’s good to hear,” Leehan’s voice came through—almost unnaturally so, like he was holding onto certainty to shield you both. “We’ll get out of this.”

Even with that door separating you both and your form of contact is nothing but an earpiece, you could feel the weight of his words pressing against the anxiety gnawing at you. He was still there, keeping the threat at bay on the other side, while you were trapped with nothing but the echoes of alarms and numbers. And somehow, that was enough to keep you moving—keep you focused—even as your stomach twisted with every passing second.

Thud!

A large hit was heard against the metal door, causing you to whip your head to that direction. There was no large dent that came through the door, but it felt loud enough to not assume that there was no kind of impact made onto it.

Footsteps multiplied outside, heavier and faster, not just Leehan’s this time. Panic clawed at your chest.

“Oh no.”

“Leehan?” Your voice cracked, rising in pitch as the pounding and grunts grew louder. You winced, ears straining against the comms as if each hit had a physical weight. “What’s happening?”

Only grunts and shouts answered, and a rush of sheer panic made a string of curse words tumble from your lips. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen, desperate for any sign of progress.

91%.

“Y/N,” Leehan’s voice finally broke through, which you heard him pant slightly. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

“You can’t just say that!” you yelled, your hands clenching around the handle of the console, believing that it could cause the system to move quicker. “Are you okay? Can you really hold them off for me?”

“Focus on the mission, not me.” His tone was commanding, aiming to smooth your stress, but you felt your chest tighten anyway.

“You are a part of this mission, together with me!” Your voice rose again, spilling frustration and fear into every word. “If we don’t get out of this together, this mission isn’t successful!”

A sharp crack sounded on the comms, following the unmistakable impact of his punch. “I need you to stay calm,” he said, voice steadier now despite the sounds of struggle in the background. “Keep your eyes on the screen. I’ll hold them off.”

You wanted to trust him. So badly.

But the shrieks were deafening. The chaos outside rang at your ears. Every impact—every grunt or crash—you could only wonder: was it him, or against him? Dread twisted in your chest as monstrous roars joined the sounds. The floor beneath you trembled, throwing off your footing, threatening to topple you.

What the hell has The Light brought in?

What nightmare did they unleash to make sure this mission fails?

95%.

Then, silence. Or at least, the worst kind of silence. Leehan’s earpiece went radio silent. You didn’t know if he was doing okay—the shouts were not helping you differentiate who was who anymore. Your chest tightened, the ongoing dread seizing your mind, feeding into your thought storm of worst-case scenarios.

96%.

The shrill alarms, once piercing, were muted—blocked out, but the distant echoes of struggle still reached your ears. You couldn’t help but focus on every muffled yell, every heavy thud—all the noises that only made you feel uneasy.

97%.

Your fingers tingled and numbed as they pressed against the console. The room seemed to shrink around you, the vibrations under your feet and the sporadic noises telling you that the fight outside was far from over.

98%.

Your steps faltered as anxiety crept up at your balance. You forced yourself to focus, though every nerve screamed to just exit out of the room to turn around.

To run to him.

99%.

Your hand hovered over the chip insertion point, trembling. You couldn’t take your eyes off the progress bar, the percentage being stared at more intensely than ever. It was as if each percentage point was a lifeline, each one a beat closer to survival.

100%.

DIASABLING: COMPLETE!

The sirens died as suddenly as they'd begun, the red lights immediately snapping back to the bright and harsh light that matched the museum, The console’s low robotic chime announced the node was dead and the system obediently powered down—proof that you’d done it.

You should feel triumph. You should feel relieved that the satellite can no longer be used to cause any harm.

But, that still didn’t change the fact that Leehan was still out there. The scraping along with the thuds felt like signs that told you he needed you now.

It didn’t matter how dangerous it was—you had to be out there with him.

There was no way he could’ve fought that entire hall alone.

You yanked the chip free, its cool surface slick against your palm. You slid it back into your pocket with more force than necessary, hating the small tremor in your fingers. Then you crashed toward the welded door. Every strike you laid on that metal frame was frantic, a noticeable feat of fear: palm, fist, shoulder, palm again. You didn’t feel the burn at first—only the urgent, animal need to get out and find him.

When the metal finally split and the door hanging slightly off its hinges, the motion threw your shoulder and arm against the frame. A fresh feeling of pain seared along your skin where the metal scraped you.

You sucked in a short breath, ignoring the pain as you shoved the door open fully.

The corridor hit you with everything at once—the warm temperature, stale air, dust motes drifting in the strip of light, boot prints smeared across the floor like noticeable fingerprints rubbed along glass. Your eyes tracked a hulking shape ahead: at first a monster’s broad back, a mass of alien silhouette looming over a cluster of fallen guards. Your stomach dropped; you stumbled back, breath snagging in your throat.

You watched the eyes shining from the creature starting from green to write. Once its arm was lifted away, the flesh was now emerging, seams smoothing until the monstrous outline folded like a mask being removed. The thing inhaled once, and where it had been was someone painfully familiar from the sound and back alone.

Mr. Martian.

Leehan.

Was this how he was able to fight off all these people?

He stood there, half-turned, shoulders heaving. His sleeves were more creased than not; his chest rose and fell in smaller gasps. For a moment neither of you moved—his shock mirrored yours so fully it felt like a mirror had cracked between you.

When did you get here?

And how much did you actually see?

You saw every mark on him now: the grime clinging to his jaw, the ragged fray of his hair, the color leeched from his face where he looked exhausted, along with having drained the blood from his cheeks.

He looked… tired.

Hollowed in the places you were only beginning to notice.

You opened your mouth, and a sound slipped out—it was useless, half-formed. Your hand went to your side on instinct and came away sticky. Your fingers brushed the cut; wet heat smeared across your fingertips. A thin line of blood trailed down your palm and plopped cold onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Leehan’s voice cracked as he rushed to you, panic stretching your name into something raw. His hand clamped onto your arm before you could react, his other hand sliding down to grip your wrist. With frantic precision, he dragged the fabric of his sleeve against the blood, trying to stop it.

You were frantic that some of your blood would stain his hands. But, you couldn’t pull away. He sounded too vulnerable. His voice had faltered on the last syllable of your name, his fingers now hovering as though terrified of pressing too hard, terrified of hurting you.

He was trembling.

He dabbed at the wound once, twice—then froze, finally realizing the intimacy of what he was doing.

His eyes flicked up, meeting yours. For a second, the loud noises ringing his ears had faded; all you could see was the storm in his face.

“Oh—” His hands slipped back like he’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I—” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “You probably didn’t want me touching you, right?”

The words tumbled out heavy with shame, sadness tugging at the edges of his voice. It wasn’t disgust at you—you could hear it, see it in the way his gaze wavered—but disgust at himself. At how easily he had given in to the impulse, at how much he wanted not to let go. His voice shook as he tried to fold it all back inside, even as his eyes betrayed the weight he carried.

Before he could sink any further into the pool of his own doubt, you reached out with your uninjured hand, your fingers firm against his arm. The contact startled him—his breath caught, his body stiffened—but you didn’t let go.

“Let’s get out of here.”

His eyes flicked toward you, glassy, unfocused. “Huh?” His voice was dazed, like he was waking from a dream he didn’t want to admit he was in.

“Our job is done here,” you repeated, letting each word press into him until it reached through the brain fog. You glanced around the hall again—guards strewn on the ground, none stirring up, the air still humming faintly with the aftermath of violence.

“We did it.”

You gave him a small but genuine smile, enough to finally ground him in your words.

The mission was completed.

Leehan might’ve lingered there, letting that truth process into his mind longer, but instead he moved instinctively—your feet left the ground as his flight synced to yours, his arm still locked with yours as if he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to. You led the way down the long, dim corridor, even with your arm now loose on the grasp of his arm, he still didn’t let go.

He followed your lead down the deeper part of the hall, flying through until the faint green glow of a single word emerged ahead:

EXIT.

You two both stopped flight temporarily, letting your feet softly hit the ground. You stretched out your hand toward the door, blood still traced over your arm, but before your fingers touched the handle his arm shot out across yours. He twisted the knob instead, holding the weight of the door as though the gesture alone could keep you from more harm.

You caught his side profile—jaw tight, eyes locked on the cut across your arm as if every drop of blood was a fault made because of him.

He looked scared. Broken even. But you kept the words in, saving them until you were both safe.

He had gone through hell there. Fought, endured, and carried burdens you still didn’t fully understand.

He did everything he could for this mission. For the people. For you.

Your chest swelled, not with panic or adrenaline anymore, but something quieter and heavier.

You were proud of him.

The bio-ship sighed as the hatch sealed and the engines shifted to autopilot—that familiar, comforting whoosh that meant you were moving without needing to steer. You slid into the nearest seat, nursing the dull ache along your arm, watching Leehan through the soft cabin light.

He stayed standing for a moment, hand on the console, then disappeared toward the small restroom. You heard water run—too quick, too rehearsed—and the faint scrape of fabric as he tried to steady himself. When he dried his hands, he didn’t walk straight back. Instead he went to an open storage locker and rummaged, the clatter of supplies punctuating the quiet.

You shifted, scooting over to make room. He returned carrying a sterile white box, the kind of kit you hoped you’d never need but were grateful to have. He sat down carefully beside you, like he was trying not to break whatever fragile balance had rebuilt itself between you two.

Without exchanging a word, you offered your arm to him. He peeled back your sleeve with gentleness, exposing the scrape more. Inside the kit he grabbed a pack of antiseptic wipes, using one of them to continue dabbing away at the wound properly this time.

He worked with the quiet focus of someone who’d done this a thousand times in the wrong places. First he wiped off the dried streaks caused by the size of the scrape. Then he worked closely to the edges of the cut, coaxing them loose with gentle, patient pulls so the new skin underneath wasn’t disturbed. You flinched, winced each time; each time he paused, thumb hovering at the crease of your wrist like he was afraid of snapping something fragile.

Then he’d breathe, and his fingers would return, slower, softer.

When the wound was clean, he dabbed a fingertip of ointment onto his middle finger and brought it to the cut. Every time it stung and you let out even the smallest hiss, Leehan always withdrew. He would stop before looking at you again, waiting for your permission to continue.

Afterwards, he wrapped a bandage around you—secure enough that the bandage wouldn’t slide, loose enough that it can be unwrapped without trouble if you needed to reapply more ointment.

He set the bandage roll aside, hand drifting toward the kit’s lid. Before it could snap shut, your hand slid over his—warm—stopping him mid-motion. For a second neither of you moved. Then you drew the lid back open, your fingers still grazing his.

“You’re not taken care of yet,” you murmured softly, like you were offering him something more than the words could comfort him themselves. You plucked one of the clean cloths, shifting closer until your knees almost brushed.

He stiffened, instinct urging him to retreat, but you were quicker. The cloth pressed lightly against his temple, sweeping away the grime clinging to his skin. With your other hand, you combed his hair gently back, holding strands out of the way as you worked.

He stayed still—too still—as if one wrong move would break this moment. His gazed flicked from your bandaged arm, to you, and back again—a quick cycle.

He admired the same features that had stopped him cold the first time he’d seen your profile paired with his.

Truthfully, it wasn’t just your profile. It was everything. Every glance, every word, every spark of defiance in your eyes—enough to hold him in a trance he felt he shouldn’t allow.

And seeing it this close, feeling your hand steady against his cheek, brought it all rushing back. The same pull, the same dangerous ache.

Your cloth swept lower, grazing the corner of his mouth. You froze. The air thinned between you. His breath caught, sharp, and when you dared to look up, his eyes were already locked on yours—unguarded, intent, searching.

Before you realized it, your body leaned in. Your palm anchored lightly to his cheek, the pull in your chest urging something more—something reckless, but something more real.

But then he shifted. Just a tilt of his head, breaking the line of possibility.

Oh.

Your hand retreated as if burned, leaving behind a hollow heat that spread down your arm. The sensation twisted through you—disappointment, confusion, a sting you couldn’t quite name.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words breaking from him before he could catch them. His fists clenched tight against his knees, knuckles white, eyes refusing to meet yours. “I… it wouldn’t work out. Even if I wanted it to.”

Your breath hitched. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… us.” The word scraped out, fragile.

Your chest tightened. “What about us won’t work?”

“You saw it yourself.” His voice cracked, his composure unraveling with every word. Gone was the calm, unshakable Leehan—the one who calmed others when everything was in shambles. What sat in front of you now was what he considered as the real him.

Panicked. Hurt. Afraid.

“You saw what I could do.”

“And?” you asked, confusion sharp in your tone.

“You shouldn’t like me—for what I gave you. For who you think I am. It was—” he shook his head, breath shuddering. “It was all a front. A mask. Everything you saw in those seconds… that was the real me. The part I never wanted you to see.”

Your heart hammered, but your answer came steady, firm. “Everything was not fake. You’re careful, you’re dedicated—you care. You care so much.”

More words were urging to be spilled by you—you wanted him to know, to feel what you felt without him second-guessing everything. You wanted to be the one to tell him he wasn’t alone in this.

“And I like you for that,” you said, the sentence you’d been fighting with yourself over finally spilling out. It felt raw and honest and utterly irreversible when it left your mouth—no more rehearsals, no more second takes.

And you were more than fine with that.

You never felt more confident in those words now as they were no longer the ones that lingered in your brain, but they were now said as it mixed in with the air in here.

Leehan’s face crumpled the way it did when he was trying to hold back something he could not name. “No, no—” he breathed, panic rising, his eyes searching your face like he expected the reassurance to be a joke. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” Your voice shook with the same desperation, because none of this made sense to you. You were past the point of being polite or careful.

This wasn’t a moment where you’d be willing to pull back this time to figure it all by yourself. You wanted the answers now so badly.

Answers from him.

“Why would you even say that?”

He looked like he was tearing himself apart to speak. “Because I’m… different. You’re human. I’m a Martian.” The words fell clumsy, earnest—an explanation that seemed like an excuse as much as it was a warning. “That form you saw—what you thought was a monster—that should’ve told you everything. I shouldn’t be someone you can… or should choose.”

“For God’s sake,” you burst out, words tumbling over each other now that the built up wall of withdrawal had finally broken, “I couldn’t care less where you’re from, how you act, or what your powers are—I like all of it. I like you. Everything about you is something I can appreciate.”

You swallowed, chest tight as you drew one ragged breath to stabilize yourself. “And you just won’t even let me do that.”

The confession came out raw and messy; your voice even shook as you said the thing you knew he feared most.

“Because I’ll hurt you.” The sentence was small. Brittle—the same defense he’d pull up whenever closeness edged too near to the real him.

“But you didn’t.” You jerked your chin toward the bandage. “You patched me up. You stayed. You fought for this mission. You saved the console. You didn’t hurt me.”

He closed his eyes, a quick shuttering that spoke of memories and guilt you couldn’t touch.

Guilt he refused to let you touch.

“That doesn’t erase what I can do.” His voice was hoarse, not from exertion now but from the weight of admitting it. “There are parts of me that aren’t safe. I’ve seen what happens when I let them loose.”

“Nothing about you screams danger to me.”

He froze, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether you were serious or testing him. “What do you mean?” His voice carried tension, a tightness born from years of caution. “You saw my form, you saw what I was doing to the guards—you could’ve pieced together all my lies by now. You now know how I downplay my powers to keep people from judging me.”

“It doesn’t change a thing.” Your voice was calm, resolute, leaving no room for argument.

“Still—” He pressed, leaning slightly closer, desperate to make you see the truth before you made a choice he thought might be dangerous. “My powers go beyond what was labeled on that screen. My shapeshifting? Into this, something that isn’t relatively close to how I actually looked? My telepathy? I can read your mind, speak to you through it—hell, I can erase parts of your memory without you even knowing, unless I tell you. That’s what I did to those guards. That’s dangerous, Y/N. It’s dangerous that it’s even in my easy grasp. It could be used at any moment.”

‘You won’t hurt me,’ you thought, letting the words settle in your chest before you spoke them aloud.

“You can’t guarantee that—” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes flickering with the weight of what he could do.

“That still doesn't change a thing for me, Leehan.”

The weight of his name fell heavy on him, echoing through his chest and clinging tighter than he wanted. His panic softened, the sharp edges of fear dulling at the sound of your words.

He wasn’t lying when he admitted to you that your voice, saying his name like that, carried something stronger than any caution or fear he had ever known.

He never lied when he said it sounded better than anything he’s ever heard.

“You’re still the person I want,” you said softly, meeting his gaze, “and nothing will change that.”

“Why do you like me… for me?” Leehan asked, his voice tight with disbelief. His usual composure had cracked, leaving him exposed in a way few had ever seen. Anyone else would have recoiled from this level of vulnerability, taken back their words, or guarded themselves—but you hadn’t.

“The strength from your powers,” you said softly, taking a slow breath, “wasn’t enough to make me overlook the real parts of you. The parts you don’t show anyone. Remember what I said? You’re kind, caring, someone who thinks of others even when it’s hard. I like that about you. I like you… for you.”

His eyes flickered down for a moment, almost afraid to meet yours. “Even… even knowing my original form? The form you saw?”

“Yes,” you pressed, grabbing his noticeable bruised hands, brushing your fingertips over his knuckles. “Even knowing about your original form.”

He exhaled, a shiver running through him. “Why… why me?”

“Because it’s still you,” you said, leaning forward just slightly, letting the words sink in. “All of you. And now that I think about it, I was able to learn a lot. I was able to learn that I love you—for you.”

Love.

The same word he was trying to pinpoint earlier to his feelings.

It was the same word he’d been trying to name in himself, something he’d feared, something he’d tried to avoid. Yet hearing it from you, so clear, it never felt more right than anything.

Leehan blinked rapidly, his breath catching in his throat. For the first time in a long while, the chaos in his mind—the fear of what he could do, the walls he’d built around himself—finally fell apart.

He stared into your eyes, so full of hope, and for a brief, perfect second, the world seemed to shrink around the two of you. Every flicker of doubt, every layer of turmoil that had held him back, melted away under the weight of your gaze.

He loves you.

Without thinking, his hand reached up, gently cradling the side of your face, tilting your head closer. His lips met yours—they were soft, hesitant, almost questioning, as if he wasn’t sure what was allowed, what was right. That uncertainty lingered for a heartbeat, but it was enough to send a thrill through you.

You leaned forward, pulling his hand away from your face, guiding the moment yourself. Your lips pressed more firmly against his, and the kiss deepened naturally, urgent yet tender. It was the weight of everything unspoken—the fear, the relief, the bond that had grown between you—concentrated in this single, perfect connection.

It held everything neither of you had dared to express before.

He was hesitant at first, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested against your waist. But, with you taking the lead and him following it, he knew he was getting used to it.

When you finally pulled back slightly, gasping for a fraction of air, he didn’t retreat. His eyes were wide, searching yours as if asking for permission, reassurance, confirmation that this was real.

Even if it was a dream, he wanted it to last forever.

Without warning, his lips crashed onto yours again. There was no hesitation this time, only certainty and need. He shifted, leaning you back against the sofa, giving him room to cradle you close. His hands settled firmly on your hips, guiding and continuing to let the kiss deepen between you both.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open, admiring the sight of him. He looked caught out of a daze, lips slightly parted, eyes glossy, almost like an invitation that made your chest tighten with longing. The subtle pink-red tint of his lips, so soft and full, made your breath hitch, and you couldn’t help letting out a small, gasping chuckle. Leehan’s own laughter followed yours, quiet and warm, the smile curling on his face that never failed to make your heart do backflips.

You reluctantly freed yourself from his grasp, though his hand lingered lightly on your waist, also reluctant to let go. You caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, which only made you giggle again. Sliding down beside him, you interlaced your fingers with his, letting a soft silence settle between you both.

“I also love you, for you, by the way,” he blurted suddenly, the abruptness only reinforcing the truth of it. His words, unpolished but sincere, wrapped around your heart like a warm hug.

You leaned a little closer, letting your head brush against his shoulder. He was still the person you had fallen for—uncertain, careful, and yet entirely, unmistakably himself. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

He was the one.

“I figured. You wouldn’t kiss someone so passionately if you didn’t love them, would you?” you teased, watching his cheeks flush red, the color perfectly mirroring the tint of his lips.

“I had to remind you again,” he managed, his voice low but laced with sincerity. “And I’m willing to say it as many times as it takes.”

For once, none of your differences mattered. Not your powers, not your past, not the chaos of the missions. All that mattered was the trust between you two, the certainty that you had found someone who truly understood, who truly cared. Leehan could confidently say he had found the one.

“Let’s say… if there’s ever a pair mission again,” you began, leaving a pause for effect, a small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “Would you want to be partners with me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’d be with you all the time if I could.”

“I don’t think that’s possible for all missions,” you said, tilting your head with a grin.

“I’ll rig it,” he joked, eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and confidence. “You know what I’m capable of.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at his ridiculousness, feeling warmth in your chest. Beneath the teasing and the jokes, there was comfort.

Comfort in having the knowledge that he was finally at ease with his own abilities, that with someone he trusted, he didn’t have to hold back or fear what his powers could do.

For once, he could just be Leehan, and you wouldn’t hate it.

That you were someone who would remind him, without hesitation, that you wouldn’t judge. That you would see him—truly see him—and still choose to stay.

Leehan had always felt, deep down, that he knew this, but these moments—the laughter, the teamwork, the hand holding, the kiss—solidified it in a way words never could.

The answers that he was looking for were now all laid out for him.

The one he loves. The one he wants. The one that completely rearranged his world.

It was all you.

A quiet exhale escaped him as he tightened his grip on your hand, his thumb brushing over yours in a soft, protective gesture. You both looked at each other, unable to fight back a smile from forming on both of your faces.

That was when you both knew that this mission was more than a simple success.

It was the start for something far more.

‘💬’ ─── wow this was a roller coaster…. Well mainly to me because what do you me i actually wrote a… A KISSING SCENE????? anyways i hope you guys enjoyed this ^^ ONE MORE FIC TO GO FOR THIS COLLABBBB !!

› BONEDO PERM TL ( OPEN ) ──── @riumori @j4d @itsactuallylina @htaesan @himewonu @pumpkg @mimimimiaa @deeour @s0shroe @mari3s @woonhakntaesansgf @yunextdoor @wensurr @ivxae @wnouzi @prodkwh

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