nyctophilia
[ nĭk′tə-fĭl′ē-ə ]
n.
a preference for the night or darkness
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"Oh we're definitely killing them then, I need to pad my stats anyway."
"You sound like a serial killer."
"I know, I still wonder why...
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San's POV
The box in my pocket felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric of my jacket, the pressure of it weighing down on me with every step I took. Why hadn’t I just given her the ring earlier? I had it in my pocket for so long, but no, I just had to go and fight with her again, like it was some kind of pattern. Every time things started to feel like they were going in the right direction, I’d screw it up. I should’ve known it would happen—she and I, we were both under too much pressure. The constant stress, the never-ending anxiety of being watched, it was too much for both of us, and we were both cracking under the weight of it all.
But the thing was, I couldn’t even blame her for how she was feeling. I was never a patient person to begin with, and I definitely wasn’t the type to handle this kind of situation well. But watching her, usually so calm and collected, fall apart in the middle of this mission? It did nothing to make me feel better. If anything, it only made me realize how much I was lacking—how much I was failing as her partner.
It wasn’t just the mission anymore. It was us.
And I knew what was missing now. Communication.
If that was what she wanted, then damn it, that was what I was going to give her. It wasn’t easy for me. I wasn’t great with words, especially when things were strained like this. But I had to try, because the alternative was worse. If I didn’t at least make an effort, things were only going to get worse.
This mission wasn’t like the ones we had before. Sure, we’d been through life-and-death situations in the past, but this was different. This one felt... more intimate, more personal. We were playing the part of a married couple. A married couple. This was a mission, a cover, and we had to convince everyone around us that it was real.
I knew she wasn’t used to this kind of relationship. Hell, I wasn’t used to it either. I hadn’t been in serious or committed relationships to begin with. Sure, I had close relationships, but nothing like this. I had never played pretend this long.
Maybe I should’ve helped her more, I thought. But I hadn’t.
As I walked slowly up the stairs to our shared bedroom, the weight of everything pressing on my chest, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could’ve handled things differently. But now it was too late.
When I pushed the door open, I found Eun sprawled out on the bed, her small frame hidden beneath a mountain of blankets and pillows in disarray. The way she lay there, face hidden, reminded me of a child who’d thrown a tantrum.
