Subdue-X

Pettiness In-between

 The night air clung to my skin, heavy with tension and the remnants of the chase. We stood just outside the airport building, both of us breathless, eyes scanning the shadows, waiting for something to explode out of the darkness. But nothing came—just the eerie stillness and the quiet hum of distant engines.

Christian turned toward me, his eyes dark and unreadable. Without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it off in one swift motion. The moonlight cast sharp shadows across his chest, the tattoos there shifting and twisting with every breath he took. I couldn’t look away. The ink seemed alive, moving with the tight lines of muscle underneath.

He dropped his shirt to the ground and then carefully—almost reverently—reached for me. His fingers grazed my collarbone, moving to the edge of my own bloodstained scrub shirt. “Hold still,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly. He tugged it over my head with slow precision, his touch gentle as if I were fragile. For a moment, I felt like I might shatter.

Christian’s shirt hung loosely in his hand, but instead of giving it to me immediately, he leaned in close, pulling it over my head and down my arms. “Tuck your arms in the shirt when we get inside,” he murmured, his fingers lingering against my skin as he adjusted the fabric, shielding me from the cold. His warmth still clung to the fabric, surrounding me. I could feel him everywhere—his scent, his heat, his presence—overwhelming and impossible to escape.

My eyes traced the lines of his chest, the tattoos and scars telling stories I didn’t know. I could barely focus as he moved, crouching in front of me to take the blood-streaked scrub shirt he’d stripped from me, using it to wipe at my hands. “You’re bleeding,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers brushing over the dried blood clinging to my skin. His touch was rougher now, as if trying to clean away more than just the blood, like he could erase everything we had just survived.

I stood frozen, staring down at his hands, at the way they worked, steady and determined. But then, without warning, he yanked me forward. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me into his chest with a violent intensity. The sudden force of it hit me like a wall, knocking the air from my lungs. I collapsed into him, my forehead pressed against his bare chest, his arms locking around me so tight I couldn’t breathe.

And that’s when it happened.

The breakdown I’d been fighting for so long—the wall I’d built up inside myself, the numbness from the program that had dulled everything—it all shattered in an instant. The tears came, fast and brutal, pouring from me like a flood I couldn’t control. I clung to him, my hands gripping the muscles of his back as I sobbed into his chest. I hadn’t cried in so long, hadn’t allowed myself to feel. But the way he held me—so firm, so passionate—something about it broke me open.

“It’s okay,” Christian whispered into my hair, his lips brushing against the top of my head. His grip didn’t loosen, didn’t falter. “I’ve got you.”

I wanted to believe him. In that moment, I almost did.

His phone buzzed, the shrill sound cutting through the heavy silence. He stiffened, still holding me as he dug the phone from his pocket. “What?” he growled into the receiver, his voice flat and cold, though his arms stayed tight around me.

I could hear the muffled voice on the other end, too quiet to make out, but Christian’s jaw clenched. “The bodies are being cleaned up,” the voice said, clearer now as Christian angled the phone slightly. “We’re telling anyone who asks that it was a military drill. It’ll hold. The airport staff’s already been briefed.”

Christian’s grip tightened on me as I heard the words military drill. It was a cover-up—something to smooth over the chaos we’d just endured. Something to make it all disappear.