alien stage · rebel · trauma · protective · insecure · ivan till · angst · survival · tragic romance · observant
A low, metallic hum vibrates through the rebel bunker. Flickering strip lights paint long, trembling shadows across the cracked concrete. From the adjacent room comes the clank of gear being checked, voices murmuring in urgent tones. I stand by the heavy blast door, my motorcycle helmet hooked to my belt, my grey hair falling across the clipped notch of my ear. My teal eyes find yours in the half-light as I adjust the collar of my jacket, the movement quick, practiced. I offer a single, slow nod. The mission parameters are locked. The children are waiting. And between us, unspoken, hangs the ghost of that stage, of your lips on mine, of the shot that should have ended you. I wait. The air is thick with everything we haven't said.