The fire was nearly out.

Only a soft orange flicker remained, curling low between the crumbling stones. The air inside the dome still held a trace of warmth, but the cold was creeping back in around the edges.

Leonardo shifted slightly, careful not to make a sound.

Gabriel was curled on the far side of the wall, still wearing his coat. His hands were tucked under his chin. His breathing was even. Slow. Untroubled in a way Leonardo hadn’t seen before. Not on the train. Not in the field. Not even during those first quiet moments after the crash.

His body was still, but not tense. His face was soft, half-shadowed by the dim glow from the vines overhead.

Leonardo stayed where he was. Watching. Breathing as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to wake him. Not yet. Not after everything.

The silence around them was strange. Not peaceful. Not dangerous. Just thick. Like it had swallowed everything else. No wind. No creaking vines. No distant rumble of shifting terrain.

Only the sound of Gabriel’s breathing and the slow beat of Leonardo’s own heart.

He let his eyes trace over Gabriel again. The curve of his shoulders. The delicate shape of his collarbone where the coat had slipped open. The contrast of his skin, milky white and cool-toned, against the dark collar. And that face. Pale and still flushed from cold and exhaustion, framed by black hair that clung lightly to his temple.

Gabriel looked like he belonged to winter. All sapphire eyes and frost-stained quiet. 

He was always moving, correcting posture, checking readings, keeping distance.

Now, still and unguarded, he looked like someone else entirely.

He didn’t even know what he was doing, how much space he took up in Leonardo’s thoughts now. How that first flicker of attraction had started to twist into something steadier.

Something dangerous.

It hit him all at once, how small Gabriel looked like this. How breakable.

And how close he had come to losing him.

Leonardo exhaled slowly through his nose, but it didn’t ease the weight pressing on his ribs.

He glanced away, needing something to do. Carefully, he reached for his sidearm where it lay next to his pack and checked the chamber. The weapon’s casing was scratched from the blast, but functional. He adjusted the pressure seals and returned it to its place with steady hands. Then his fingers moved to the strap of his field harness, tightening the buckles by instinct.

It didn’t need doing. But it helped.

The rhythm of it steadied him just enough to let his thoughts move without spinning.

He hadn’t meant to grab Gabriel like that. Hadn’t thought. Just moved.

But even now, even after the fire and the fall and the pain that still flared behind his eyes, he didn’t regret it.

He would do it again.

Not for duty. Not even for survival.

Just because it was Gabriel. And that had become reason enough.

And maybe that should have scared him. It didn’t.

He looked back.

Gabriel hadn’t shifted. His breathing remained steady, his head tipped slightly toward the wall. There was a smear of dirt near his cheekbone. Even like this, half-buried in a coat too big for him, curled up in a dome full of psychic vines and who-knows-what, Gabriel looked impossibly calm.

No. Not calm.

Trusting.

Maybe not in Leonardo. Not yet. But in this moment, at least, he wasn’t flinching.

That alone was enough to make Leonardo’s chest feel too tight.

The dome’s glow had softened. The vines overhead glowed faintly, pulsing in sync with Gabriel’s steady breath. Even the temperature seemed to have settled. As if the entire zone were holding its breath along with him.

The quiet was too fragile for confessions. But the words came anyway, low and rough in Leonardo’s throat. Just a whisper. A vow that wouldn’t echo.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I swear.”

Gabriel didn’t stir.

Leonardo stayed still, eyes fixed on him for another long moment.

Then he leaned his head back against the wall, letting the silence press in around him once more.

Not heavy.

Not empty.

Just enough to wait in.

Gabriel woke slowly.

For a few long seconds, he didn’t move. He kept his eyes shut and listened.

The fire had died down to faint embers, and the air was colder now, but not biting. The vines above the dome still pulsed faintly, casting a soft amber light that made the space feel less like a ruin and more like a shelter.

His body ached. Not sharply, just a dull throb beneath the surface. But he was dry, warm enough, and, most surprising of all, calm.

His shoulder shifted slightly. A weight pressed near his side. He opened his eyes.

Leonardo sat only a short distance away, head tilted back against the curved wall. His eyes were closed, but his posture wasn’t fully relaxed. One hand rested loosely on his thigh, the other hung at his side. Even at rest, there was tension in the lines of his body.

Gabriel’s gaze drifted lower.

The coat around his shoulders still smelled faintly of fire and heat. Leonardo’s scent. Familiar now in a way that made something twist in his chest.

He adjusted it slightly, fingers brushing the fabric. Leonardo stirred, then looked over, blinking the haze from his eyes.

“You’re awake,” he said softly.

Gabriel nodded. “For a bit.”

Silence settled again, but it felt different now. Easier.

Leonardo reached toward the bag beside him and pulled out a ration bar. He offered it without a word.

Gabriel hesitated. Then took it.

Their fingers brushed, just briefly, but neither pulled away.

“Thanks,” Gabriel said, voice rough from sleep.

“Try to eat something. We’ll need the energy.”

Gabriel unwrapped the bar. The first bite was dry, but it gave him something to focus on.

Leonardo leaned forward and stoked the fire with a few glowing fragments of kinetic energy. The flame responded instantly, flickering into life again. Enough light. Enough warmth.

Gabriel watched him as he moved. Carefully, methodically. He wasn’t trying to show off. He wasn’t saying much at all. Just existing nearby. Solid. Capable.

Safe.

Gabriel hated how much that mattered.

He shifted slightly, adjusting his seat against the wall. “The zone’s still quiet.”

Leonardo glanced toward the dome’s entrance. “Too quiet.”

Gabriel nodded. “I don’t like it.”

“Me neither.”

Another silence. But it didn’t stretch. It settled.

Gabriel looked down at the ration bar in his hands, then back up at Leonardo.

“I don’t know how to stop being afraid of you,” he said. The words slipped out before he could pull them back.

Leonardo didn’t react right away. Just watched him, eyes steady.

“Then I’ll stay close,” he said. “Until you’re not.”

Gabriel blinked. His chest felt too full again, tight with things he didn’t know how to name.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Outside, the mist shifted. The vines along the dome walls responded with a faint glow, steady and calm.

For now, the storm had passed.

Time passed slowly.

Gabriel didn’t know how long they sat like that, near each other, not speaking. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Just present. Breathing. Shifting with them.

Leonardo leaned back, adjusting slightly so that their shoulders brushed. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t move away. And neither did Gabriel.

It was strange how such a small contact could hold so much. Not pressure. Not demand. Just presence.

The vines above them glowed more steadily now. Less reactive. Less uncertain. Their light traced faint outlines along the dome’s walls, soft and golden. The color of rest.

Gabriel let his gaze drift. He watched the gentle movement of the vines. The flicker of the fire. The way the light danced across Leonardo’s profile, sharp jaw, bruised temple, the faint curve of his mouth when he wasn’t trying to be charming.

There was something in the quiet that made everything feel sharper.

Gabriel’s hand rested beside his thigh, fingers half-curled against the floor. Leonardo’s hand wasn’t far.

He could feel the heat of it. Not touching, but close enough that he knew. And when their fingers brushed again, barely more than a shift in air, Gabriel didn’t move.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second. Maybe longer. Long enough for Gabriel to forget how to breathe. Long enough to feel it, the thick, slow pull of tension between them. Not fear. Not hesitation.

Something else.

Something warmer.

Leonardo’s expression didn’t change much. But his eyes softened. Focused. Not in a way that searched, but in a way that saw.

Gabriel didn’t look away.

Not this time.

His heartbeat slowed and picked up at once. He became aware of everything, his breath, the weight of the coat, the warmth of Leonardo’s arm, the faint, grounding scent of fire and heat.

For the first time in days, the pressure in his chest didn’t feel like it was building. It was settling.

The vines above them pulsed once. Then stilled.

Leonardo spoke first, voice low and steady. “You should try to rest again.”

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t tired in the way he had been before, shaking, fractured. This was different. His body wasn’t shutting down. It was finally letting go.

He eased down slowly, pulling the coat tighter. He didn’t move far, just enough to lie on his side with his back to the wall. Leonardo shifted with him, not crowding but not distant either. When Gabriel’s arm brushed against his again, he left it there.

They didn’t speak again.

The fire cracked softly. The vines barely moved. The wind outside had stopped, or maybe the zone was just holding its breath.

Gabriel didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either. And when Leonardo’s fingers brushed against his wrist, warm and light, he didn’t pull back.

Not this time.

They stayed like that. Close without touching, silent without tension.

Gabriel felt the weight of everything settle just slightly. The vines above them pulsed gently, steady in their glow. The air held warmth that hadn’t been there earlier.

He exhaled through his nose. A quiet breath.

And just before his eyes slid shut, he felt it...

A shift.

So faint it could have been nothing.

A tremor beneath the ground. A small flicker in the vines.

Leonardo didn’t move. But his body had gone still beside him. Gabriel could feel it.

The silence held.

But something in the air had changed.

Not loud. Not violent.

Just a warning.

That safety here would not last.

He didn’t say anything.

But when his eyes finally closed, it wasn’t because of exhaustion.

It was because, for the first time in years, he felt safe enough to sleep.

He knew it wouldn’t last. Zones never stayed quiet. Not for long.

But for now, the world had gone still, and Leonardo was breathing beside him.