From The Old Artworks. ❤ G A R R U S ❤

The Rain World animation I started making 2 years ago is done.

Link to high resolution version on Youtube. Contains some flashing.

favourite FARSCAPE quotes {3/?}

🕷️BlipBugBug🕷️

RW art month day 9: echoes

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 2 "Someone New"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 10k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up, so much Angst in this bad boy, brief mentions of losing spouse

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

Masterlist |Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

As the last sliver of sunlight faded beneath the horizon, Tech made his way through the dense trees, heading toward the far side of the island. The solitude of the home had always been one of his favorite things—its isolation was his refuge. But he knew that wasn’t the case for Leena. She had always hated how cut off it was from the rest of the world.

Now, in the aftermath of their heated confrontation, the weight of everything—his broken marriage, Leena’s begging, and Kayden’s unexpected siding with his decision to leave— left an odd swirling in his stomach. The journey, already daunting, felt even more taxing in the stillness. With the sting of alcohol dulling his senses and his emotions a chaotic swirl, each step felt uneven, his boots catching on unseen roots beneath him. The ground seemed to shift with the weight of his thoughts.

Despite the unease he carried with him, there was an undeniable lightness in Tech’s chest. It was as if the burden that had weighed him down for so long had finally been lifted. For the first time in what felt like ages, he could breathe. There was a quiet relief in knowing that, slowly, others were beginning to see things from his perspective—not holding him solely responsible for the fallout that followed his decision to end the marriage.

Yes, he had been the one to initiate the split, and that made him the villain in their eyes at first. But with time—and the painful explanations that came with it—his friends and family had started to understand. They saw the cracks he’d long felt, the fundamental misalignment between him and Leena. It wasn’t just his perception; it was real, and now, they could all see it.

Tech just hoped that with this newfound understanding, they could finally begin to heal. They both deserved that.

There were no other homes on this side of Pabu—just the occasional wildlife that wandered through—and almost no signs of life beyond that. So when Tech finally spotted the faint outline of his house, he was taken aback to see a figure standing in the distance.

The lack of light made him hesitate. Who could it be, waiting for him out there? A wave of unease washed over him. Could Leena have ignored her sister’s plea and circled back, despite his insistence on having space? Maybe one of his brothers had overheard the argument and come to check on him. Mae had been stopping by every now and then, making sure he was managing, even bringing food when she thought he was getting too lost in his own head.

Whoever it was on the porch, Tech wasn’t in the mood for company. He was ready to send them on their way. And as he drew closer, his gaze locked on the figure, straining to make out the shape—at least enough to tell it was a woman. But just as he was about to get a clearer look, a voice cut through the silence. One he didn’t recognize.

“Finally. Shep said I’d find you here,” she said, hopping down from the railing she had been perched on and stepping toward him without hesitation. The faint moonlight barely illuminated her, leaving her features shadowed and indistinct. All he could discern was her slight, shorter frame and long hair, flowing down around her waist. Beyond that, he had little to go on.

Tech cursed himself internally for grabbing his glasses instead of his goggles. He didn’t expect to need them since he’d attended the party, and now he regretted not having the tactical advantage. If he'd had them, he could’ve gotten a clearer picture of who was waiting for him.

“Why would Shep send you to find me here? I do not know who you are,” he asked bluntly, stepping onto the porch, where the woman stood blocking his path. There was something unsettling about how comfortable she seemed in his space—it felt almost imposing.

“I don’t come on land much, especially not for small talk,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “I need help with my boat’s engine and I’ll be on my way. Normally, I can handle it myself, but the nature of this repair is a bit out of my skill set. Shep mentioned someone settled in the old shophouse and knew their way around mechanics. Considering this engine is responsible not only for my work, but also my lodging, it is imperative it is repaired.”

Her words were stripped of frills, no apologies or introductions sprinkled in. It was a way of speaking Tech used himself, and was often told came off as rude, but hearing it from her felt oddly refreshing.  He didn’t often meet those who prioritized the content of their words over the pleasantries society demanded. Whoever she was, she seemed self-sufficient—likely isolated, and perhaps she spent so much time out on the water that is why their paths had never crossed.

With a sigh, Tech glanced over the motor’s outline. How she’d managed to lug it up here on her own, he couldn’t quite figure out. She must be stronger than she looked. Carefully, he slid past her, mindful not to bump into her as he opened the door.

“I can take a look, but I won’t make any promises,” he said, flicking the porch light on before coming forward to assist her in getting it inside to his workbench. The soft glow of the light revealed more than he expected. In the near-darkness, he’d only caught outlines, but now, under the warm light, her appearance was illuminated.

Her skin, paler than his but still kissed by the sun, was marked with stark blue lines—tattoos that covered her arms and torso. She wore a wetsuit, unzipped and tied loosely at the waist, with only a swim top beneath. The material tightly held her breasts in a way that presented them without drawing too much attention to them. 

Dark hair, windblown and slightly frizzy from the sea air, framed her face in messy waves. But it was the strand of white at her hairline that caught his eye—a single, stark contrast to the deep bronze of the rest of her hair. The juxtaposition of it stood out, almost jarring. 

Only furthering the odd clash of features, was the way the woman’s eyes looked. In the darkness it was hard to tell, but he almost thought they looked to be differing shades, but perhaps it was just the light playing tricks on him. If he had to guess one was fair, and one dark - a rare genetic disorder he’d hardly come across in all his travels. 

“You’re staring,” she noted flatly, devoid of emotion, as if merely stating the fact rather than insinuating anything by it.

She wasn’t wrong. He was staring. There was something about her—something both strikingly familiar and entirely unique. Tech was certain he’d remember someone so visually intriguing, and standing here he was taking the opportunity to study just how complex her features appeared to make her so fascinating. But, he knew there were rude connotations with staring, especially at women. 

“Apologies—” Tech told her, reaching out to lift the engine off the bench on the porch she had sat it upon, hoping the weight of it could distract him from the now creeping in guilt at his unintended reaction to studying her features as boldly as he had. 

“That is unnecessary.” Her tone remained matter-of-fact. “It is a purely biological response. Men of sexual maturity usually stare at women upon first meeting to assess their suitability for mating purposes.”

Tech knew the statement was accurate. If anything, it was the kind of fact he might have casually inserted into a conversation himself. But knowing it was true and accepting that he was currently at the mercy of his own instincts were two very different things. For once, he found himself at a rare loss for words.

"I've made you uncomfortable," she said, her voice gentle yet knowing, as she noticed the lingering silence. With a slight step forward, she reached out, effortlessly lifting the other side of the heavy engine, helping him slide it inside with ease. Tech couldn’t help but notice the way the muscles of her arm, though slim, tightened as she moved, her strength evident in the graceful motion. There was something almost mesmerizing about how the delicate frame of the woman hid such a quiet, powerful strength.

"No," Tech replied, shaking his head slightly, his tone softening as he turned to face her. "You haven’t. You just... caught me off guard." He offered a faint smile, trying to ease the tension. She didn’t return the smile, instead, her gaze wandered across the interior of his home, taking in the space with quiet observation.

He hadn’t been here long—just a few months at most—and even then, he’d only bothered with the essentials. The walls bore the signs of a hurried repair, the bare minimum to make the place functional again. When Leena had suggested painting over the natural wood beams, he’d quickly declined. He preferred their rough, unaltered beauty over any kind of artificial touch. Instead, she had hung a few of her own paintings as a compromise. But after she’d left to stay with her sister, he’d taken them down. Not out of spite, but because they felt like a reminder of something he wasn’t ready to hold on to. He had turned them face down and tucked them away.

In the far corner, his bed was neatly made, a simple, practical setup. The only real sign of life in the space was the workbench, cluttered with tools and various projects. Otherwise, the room was bare, almost sterile—unadorned with any personal mementos or decoration. He spent most of his time here working, the space merely a place to rest and recharge. He hadn’t seen the point in making it more than that.

Tech couldn’t help but watch as the woman’s attention seemed to deepen, her eyes tracing every detail of the room with a growing sense of awe. Her posture shifted, the casual curiosity transforming into something almost reverent, as though she were witnessing something sacred. It was an odd reaction, one that stirred an unspoken question within him, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he turned away, walking toward his workbench, his mind already slipping into the familiar rhythm of assessment.

He welcomed the shift in focus, even if it was an unexpected one. Despite the intrusion into his quiet evening, the distraction of repairing her engine was a welcome reprieve. His hands itched to get to work, to twist, tighten, and fix. It was something he had always excelled at—tinkering, problem-solving, creating order from chaos. The hum of machines and the precise motions of working with his hands had always been a balm for his restless mind.

As he stood before the workbench, setting his tools into place, a sense of calm washed over him. Here, in this space, he didn’t have to think about anything beyond the task at hand. There was comfort in the simplicity of it, the clarity that came with focusing solely on the work. And for tonight, that was enough. He would fix her engine, quiet the constant whirl of thoughts in his head, and let the hum of mechanical precision anchor him.

"You mentioned that you don’t often come upon land," he said, his voice casually probing, though there was a subtle undercurrent of genuine curiosity. He had noticed her mannerisms, the quiet confidence in the way she moved, the calmness that radiated from her despite the uncertainty in her eyes. There was something magnetic about her, a presence that intrigued him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. He found himself wanting to know more, eager to uncover the layers beneath the surface. The island was small, and his isolation felt even more acute with every passing day. Meeting someone new, someone like her, might be the distraction his disoriented mind desperately needed. He had to admit, he was craving a connection.

It wasn’t lost on him how the people here had aligned themselves with Leena, leaving him feeling like an outsider in his own world. Her departure had shifted things in ways he hadn’t expected, and as much as he tried to focus on his work, there was a hollow sense of loneliness gnawing at him. He was more than just a little intrigued by this woman, but he also couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own solitude. He needed something or someone to fill that space, even if just for a moment, to help him regain some sense of balance.

He waited, watching her closely, as if hoping for some sort of sign—an opening, a clue to the story she carried with her. Her response, when it came, was measured, but there was something in her voice that suggested she wasn’t used to speaking of herself openly.

"I don’t," she replied softly, her eyes briefly scanning the horizon outside before she turned back to meet his gaze. "I prefer the open water. There’s more freedom out there."

Her words were quiet, but there was a depth to them that caught his attention. Freedom. She said it as though it meant something much more than just physical space—like it was a lifeline, a choice that had shaped her in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

He nodded slowly, his curiosity deepening. "That must be… quiet,” he filled in the gaps. She preferred isolation, as did he. He didn’t mean to impose too much into the brief explanation he’d been gifted. 

"It is," she hummed, stepping closer to the workbench as she watched him carefully remove the cover to reveal the intricate mechanics beneath. Her gaze followed each of his movements with quiet interest, her posture poised, almost as though she were taking mental notes. "I’d like to learn how to fix it, if you don’t mind showing me," she continued, her voice steady but with a note of earnestness. "I’m a fast learner, I assure you."

There was something in her tone—an unwavering self-assurance, mixed with a quiet determination—that resonated with him. It wasn’t just the request itself, but the way she framed it, as though she was accustomed to taking things into her own hands. The insistence on self-sufficiency, the desire to acquire knowledge—it was something he recognized, something familiar. It reminded him of himself, in many ways.

He paused for a moment, watching her carefully. There was a sharpness in her eyes that spoke of a mind that didn’t settle for surface-level answers. It made him wonder about her life before this—what kind of work did she do? She certainly didn’t strike him as the type to spend her days on a fishing boat. No, there was an intelligence about her, a kind of quiet brilliance that seemed out of place in the simple life of a fisherwoman.

As he considered it, he found himself intrigued—what else lay beneath her calm exterior? What had shaped her into this woman, standing here now, asking to learn the very thing he was most skilled at? There was a story there, one he couldn’t help but want to uncover.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said, his voice steady as he continued working, his focus shifting briefly to her. “It’s not often I get the chance to share my skills with a willing observer.” He noticed the way she relaxed, her shoulders easing from the tightness they’d held moments before, and it felt like a small victory.

It was then that it struck him—he hadn’t actually learned her name, nor had he shared his. A faint sense of awkwardness flickered in him. “Tech,” he said simply, almost as though it were enough explanation. She paused, her eyebrow arching in quiet disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

The question caught him off guard, and in the dim light of the workbench lantern, he finally took in the full clarity of her features. He had been too absorbed in the task at hand, but now, noticing her expression more closely, he saw that her eyes were in fact distinctly different from one another—one a deep brown, the other a striking shade of blue.

"My name is Tech," he clarified, his tone a bit more deliberate now as he watched her reaction. He could see the confusion in her gaze shift into something closer to understanding, her posture softening further as she absorbed the answer.

“I suppose pleasantries were not properly exchanged,” she said, her voice softening slightly as she spoke, a touch of self-awareness creeping into her words. “Apologies. I’m not exactly skilled at handling... that side of human interaction, the way most people seem to manage so effortlessly.”

As she spoke, Tech caught the faintest flicker of something in her expression—an almost imperceptible hint of embarrassment, lingering in her eyes and the way she looked away briefly, as if she were retreating from her own vulnerability. It was a rare thing to witness, this crack in the calm exterior she had so carefully maintained, and for a moment, it made her seem less like the composed figure standing before him and more like someone who, despite her quiet strength, was still working out the nuances of human connection, same as him.

“I understand,” Tech said, offering a small nod. “It’s not a strength I possess, either.”

She didn’t elaborate further, and he didn’t press her to. After all, what more could be said on the matter? The silence between them stretched comfortably for a moment as she glanced down at his work, her focus sharp as she examined the mechanics with quiet interest.

“Marina,” she said at last, her voice softer now, as though sharing something personal.

“Your name, I presume,” Tech replied with a small, rhetorical smile, though his words carried a hint of curiosity beneath their casual tone.

“Yes.” She moved a little closer then, just enough to peer over his shoulder at his work without encroaching too much on his space. It was an act of quiet observation, and yet, he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the subtle shift in proximity. Her presence seemed to fill the room in ways that made the air feel warmer, and he could feel the heat of her skin against his, even through the layers of his sweater. An odd, fleeting sense of discomfort stirred within him.

He felt the sudden urge to shed his sweater, as though it were too much to bear, the warmth of the room and her nearness intensifying that familiar restlessness. Without thinking much of it, he pulled the garment off, tossing it aside and adjusting his undershirt to cover his torso more comfortably.

“Fitting name for someone who spends all their time on the water,” he said, his voice drifting back into casual conversation. Small talk wasn’t unfamiliar to him, particularly with the way people had interacted with him over the years. The banter, though often fleeting, filled the spaces between moments like these.

“It is,” she agreed, her voice almost flat. “Just as Tech seems to suit someone who works with mechanics.”

Her words were pointed, but not unkind. There was a dry humor in them that Tech could appreciate, the way she spoke as though the names weren’t just labels, but something that defined their purpose. The banter, brief as it was, felt oddly comfortable, like two people who had learned the unspoken rules of conversation without the need to over explain.

Tech glanced at her briefly, a faint smile still tugging at his lips from their exchange. The humor was subtle, but it was enough to lighten the air between them. He found himself curious, though—there was something intriguing about her. In the quiet moments of their conversation, he could tell she was more than she let on. Her directness, the way she carried herself, and even the way she observed everything with such intent spoke volumes.

As his hands continued to work on the engine, his gaze drifted to her once more, still absorbed in her quiet inspection. Something in the back of his mind nudged him forward, pushing him to ask a question that had been lingering.

"So," he began, his tone soft but deliberate, as though he were testing the waters. "What is it that you do, Marina?"

The question was casual enough, but there was an edge of curiosity in his voice. Her name had already begun to unfold something deeper—like a thread that, once pulled, could lead to something more. He was reluctant to pry, but he couldn’t help himself. There was a spark in her that made him want to know more about her, what drove her, what she did when she wasn’t here, observing the inner workings of machines.

She didn’t answer immediately, and for a second, he wondered if the question was too forward. But when she finally spoke, her voice was calm, her words measured.

"I… work on the water," Marina said, her eyes never leaving the engine as she spoke, though a small, almost imperceptible smile played at the corner of her lips. There was something about her quiet confidence that intrigued him, but it was the weight of her words that caught his full attention. "I study wildlife—mostly marine life—to ensure that fishermen maintain healthy, sustainable fishing practices for each species. Pabu is a small island. We can’t afford to deplete our resources, not like other places might be able to. If we’re not careful, we could fish a species to extinction without even realizing it." Her voice softened as she spoke, and the distant look in her eyes suggested she cared deeply for the work she did. "There has to be balance. My hope is that the research I do can shed light on the species that inhabit our waters—how they interact with each other, what they need to thrive, and ultimately, how we can be better stewards of their environment."

Tech listened intently, absorbing her words. He had heard murmurs before—brief conversations between his brothers about the importance of respecting nature’s balance. He remembered Crosshair’s annoyance at a woman who had scolded him and the others for fishing in the same spot too often, but he had never really considered the logic behind it, at least not fully. Now, hearing Marina speak with such conviction, the reason behind her frustration became clear.

Her work was essential, perhaps more so than he had initially realized. The weight of responsibility she carried in ensuring the island’s natural balance didn’t falter resonated deeply with him. As she spoke, Tech found himself thinking of the other inhabitants of the island, many of whom likely viewed the ocean as a source of food and nothing more—never thinking about the long-term consequences of their actions. But Marina? She was thinking about the big picture. The long game. She saw the fragility of their existence, and more importantly, she was doing something about it.

“That is very sensible,” he said, his voice earnest. "Not many people have the scientific mind to think of things like that—to look beyond the surface and understand the ripple effects. It’s easy to just take what’s in front of you and not consider how it impacts the world around you."

Marina’s eyes shifted briefly to meet his, and for the first time, Tech saw something like a soft spark in her gaze—perhaps even a hint of appreciation for his words. She didn’t respond right away, instead letting his statement hang in the air between them as she considered it. When she spoke again, her tone was quieter, reflective.

"It’s hard," she admitted, a small trace of vulnerability creeping into her voice. "People don’t always understand why it’s important. They see the fish, they see the catch, and they only think about today. But they don’t see the big picture—the long-term effects that overfishing, pollution, or mismanagement can have on our waters and our way of life."

Tech nodded, his hands still moving idly over the engine, but his thoughts now occupied with the weight of her words. He understood the drive to protect the fragile balance of things. He had spent most of his life in a similar way—fixing things, repairing the unseen problems, ensuring that things worked in harmony. It was not all that different from what she did.

He gave her a thoughtful glance. "It’s a necessary fight, I imagine. But I can see how it might get lonely, standing on the edge of something so important and watching others not fully grasp its significance."

She didn’t answer at first, but the way her gaze softened and her posture relaxed just a little suggested he wasn’t entirely off the mark. After a beat, she spoke, her voice quieter now, almost wistful. "I’ve learned to be patient. Most people won’t get it right away, and that’s okay. What matters is that I keep pushing for it. For the future." She paused, then added, her tone firm once more, "The ocean has its own rhythm, its own cycle. If we don’t respect that, we’ll lose it. And we’ll lose ourselves along with it."

Tech stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the gravity of her words. There was a certain weight to the responsibility she carried, one that made him think of the work he did in a new light. In his world, the pieces often needed fixing because they had been neglected or overlooked. He hadn’t considered before how Marina’s world, too, was one of repair—only the damage was less obvious, and the cost of ignoring it was far greater.

“I think you’re doing important work,” he said at last, his voice low but steady. "You’re not just maintaining things; you’re preserving them. That’s not something most people even consider."

Marina gave him a small, grateful smile, the warmth in her expression making her seem more human, more approachable. It was a rare thing to see, and for a brief moment, Tech felt the isolation of his own existence shift just slightly. Maybe, just maybe, there were people out there who understood what it felt like to be on the outskirts while trying to contribute as much as possible. 

“I’m glad to hear someone understands,” Marina said with a quiet, appreciative smile. "It’s not exactly something that goes over well with most people. I’ve been called just about every insult under the sun at this point.” Her tone was almost detached as she spoke, like these words, these judgments, were merely facts of life—inevitable, unimportant things that didn’t carry the weight of emotion for her. There was a certain strength in the way she carried herself, a level of indifference to the opinions of others that Tech couldn’t help but admire. She had mastered the art of dismissing negativity without letting it touch her.

Tech’s gaze flickered down to his clothes, and he was reminded once again that he was still wearing his dress pants. The realization hit him that, given the nature of the task ahead, these pants were woefully unsuitable for the kind of hands-on work he was about to do. He needed something more comfortable—something that wouldn’t restrict his movements or get ruined in the process. He had become accustomed to the simplicity of more casual attire, the kind that let him move freely and focus entirely on the task at hand. The dress pants, with their stiff fabric, felt like an obstacle, especially in a situation like this. On top of that, his glasses kept slipping down his nose, something that was becoming increasingly frustrating as he worked. He missed his goggles, which fit more securely and didn’t distract him from the task at hand.

“If you don’t mind,” he began, pausing as he considered his words. “I’d prefer to change into something more suitable for a complex repair like this one—” He trailed off as he caught a quick glimpse of her reaction. It was subtle, but he noticed her slight flinch, a reflexive shift in her posture as if she had misinterpreted his words for something else.

“I can come back later, if this is a bad time,” she offered, immediately backpedaling, clearly thinking she might have overstepped. “I shouldn’t have barged in on your evening like this—”

“No, that’s not the issue,” Tech cut in gently, his voice softening. He realized that he had inadvertently made her feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to such delicate dynamics, especially when it came to interactions like this. "It’s just… fabric like this," he said, gesturing vaguely to his formal attire, "it’s overwhelming, and I prefer to be in something that doesn’t distract me. Something more comfortable." He hoped his explanation would make sense. It wasn’t so much the idea of changing—it was the sensation of being too confined by his clothes, the lack of freedom. The weight of them made everything feel more intense, and he didn’t want to be distracted while focusing on the repair.

Her gaze softened in response to his words, and he noticed the tension that had lingered in her posture ease away. She regarded him for a moment, silent and thoughtful, as though weighing his explanation, before giving a slow, measured nod. “I see. That makes sense,” she said quietly.

Tech offered her a small, almost grateful smile in return, his appreciation for her understanding more evident now. With a brief glance towards a storage cabinet near the wall, he turned away, preparing to step out of the room. Realizing he needed a moment to change, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her a polite warning before he left. She didn’t raise her eyes from her inspection of the workspace but nodded in acknowledgement, her attention still fixed on the task at hand.

Tech hesitated at the door before leaving, reluctant to leave her alone, even though he knew it was unnecessary to feel that way truthfully. He didn’t particularly worry about her being alone in his humble space; the concern was more about her comfort. He understood how strange it could feel to be left alone in someone else’s environment. There was always that subtle sense of displacement, a quiet discomfort that could arise in such moments. He wanted to minimize that for her, even if it was just a small consideration.

Besides, the pressing need for more comfortable attire was calling out to him with every step he took away from the room. The confines of his dress pants felt like an increasingly oppressive reminder that he wasn’t quite in the right element for the task at hand.

Tech moved quickly as he stepped into the small bathroom. The soft hum of the wall light faintly in his ears as he undressed with practiced efficiency, eager to slip into something more practical. As he pulled his shirt off and changed into a simple pair of worn, comfortable trousers and a faded t-shirt, his eyes caught something on the bathroom shelf—a glint of metal, faint but unmistakable. It was his wedding band.

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the small shelf, fingers lingering near the familiar, weathered ring. The silver had dulled over time, the once-brilliant shine now softened with wear. Dings in the metal he hadn’t bothered to buff out, and the green stone in the center. He hadn’t worn it in a while—hadn’t needed to, not after everything had unraveled. Yet, there it sat, a relic of a past life. The sharp pang in his chest was fleeting but sharp, a reminder of what once was, of who he had been before everything had changed. He set it down gently, almost reverently, before turning away, the old memories already slipping back into their place, tucked away in the corners of his mind.

Returning to the room, he found Marina still standing near the workbench, but her attention had shifted. She was now examining something with quiet interest on the wall. She was standing in front of one of the wooden beams, her fingers lightly tracing the outline of initials carved into the wood. Tech paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment. The initials were old, worn smooth by time, but the marks were still legible—two letters carved deeply into the beam. He recognized them instantly: K + M

A strange, quiet tension filled the air between them, and he could feel the weight of the moment settle heavily around him. His chest tightened, but he said nothing, allowing her the space to observe as she continued to trace the letters, her fingers moving over them like she was seeking something, and he wondered why she bothered in the first place.

Tech cleared his throat, stepping fully into the room, his gaze flicking from the initials to her face. He forced a small, neutral smile as he moved past her to the workbench. "They’ve been there for a long time," he replied. "Before I got here." She jumped slightly, surprised at his return it seemed as she withdrew her hand from the beam, though her gaze lingered for just a moment longer. The quiet stillness in the room grew, the weight of unsaid words hanging thick in the air.

He shifted uncomfortably, the silence pressing in on him. "I—" he began, but the words stalled in his throat. "It’s nothing of importance and no reason to mention," he finished, hoping the explanation would be enough to let the subject slip away, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to move past it himself.

Marina didn’t press him. Instead, she gave him a small, respectful nod, clearly sensing the personal nature of the moment. "I am curious," she said simply, and for the first time since arriving she actually inquired something from him.

“I just felt wrong covering them up. My uh…” he trailed off, uncertain how to drop the information. Given her responses so far, he doubted she would be that judgemental, but a part of him liked the idea of not divulging his recent split. This was likely one of the only non-partial parties left on the island to his recent divorce, and something made him apprehensive to lose the nonbias so quickly. Ultimately her questioning gaze won out and he continued, “My ex wife wanted to carve over them.”  

Her gaze didn’t falter, but there was a subtle shift in her posture, something softer and almost surprised at his explanation. The quiet respect she showed was exactly what he had needed, and for a moment, it felt like she truly understood without needing to say a word. The silence stretched for a beat longer, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a new kind of space between them—something unspoken but mutual.

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, her voice soft but curious. It was a simple question, and yet it carried a weight that felt different than the judgmental questions he had grown accustomed to.

Tech glanced at the initials one more time before returning his gaze to her, a small sigh escaping him. “Because some things… some things don’t need to be erased. And-.”

The weight of the words hung between them, filling the room with an unspoken understanding. For a moment, neither of them spoke again. Tech felt the silence stretch longer than he expected, the air thick with the weight of his confession. The words he had shared about his past, his marriage, and his pain, left him feeling exposed, though only for a fleeting moment. But there was something else—something he hadn’t told anyone. Something that he wasn’t sure he was ready to share..

The secret had been buried deep inside him, a hidden truth that only came to light in the quiet isolation of this house. As he sifted through the remains left by the previous occupants of the house, Tech had stumbled upon something unexpected. A leather-bound journal, weathered and worn, but still intact. It had been tucked away on a shelf, half-hidden behind a stack of old tools.

Out of curiosity, he had opened the journal, and the first few pages revealed something that caught him off guard—a detailed, intricate set of mechanical drawings. The owner of the house, it seemed, was a man of remarkable skill. Sure, Tech was already adept at repairing machines, his mind well-versed in schematics and blueprints, but this was different. This man didn’t just fix what was already built—he created. He designed new, innovative machines from scratch, his ideas flowing seamlessly from his mind to paper. It was a talent that Tech recognized immediately—a raw, untapped genius in engineering that left him both awestruck and envious.

As he flipped through the pages, Tech realized that this man was no mere technician; he was a creator, a visionary in the truest sense of the word. Some people were born with the ability to craft new things, to see the world not as it was, but as it could be. The way this man’s thoughts were captured on the pages of his journal spoke to a brilliance Tech could only dream of. The drawings were so precise, so full of life, each one reflecting a mind that worked differently from his own.

But then, in the midst of all the mechanical designs, Tech came across something unexpected. Scattered among the diagrams were pages filled with scribbles—small notes, seemingly disconnected thoughts, memories, or musings. As he read through them, Tech began to understand that this man wasn’t just brilliant with machines—he had a heart full of passion, too. The romanticism in his words was undeniable.

One entry stood out to him more than the others:

Snow rested upon the steadfast earth in waves of crowning glory, soft and deep,  Moonlight and the sea entwined in her gaze, where secrets gently sleep. A heart I hold, with love so tender, cherished in silence, pure and steep. Beneath the heavens’ gentle sway, the winds do whisper, soft and clear, Of fleeting dreams that dusk betrays, yet in her eyes, they reappear. The stars, like beacons, burn so bright, yet pale beside her presence here. The night, adorned in velvet dark, holds whispers of a love untold, Where time itself forgets to mark the moments as our hearts unfold. In her embrace, a warmth so kind, a solace deeper than the cold. Oh, let the snow fall ever more, a canvas pure for love’s design, For in her gaze, I see the shore where sea and sky in rapture twine. And in that gaze, I find my soul, forever bound, forever thine.

The man had written these lines next to a diagram for a new pulley system. The juxtaposition of beauty and logic, of creativity and practicality, baffled Tech. How could someone be so incredibly emotionally, artistically, and intellectually gifted all at once? It was a quality Tech had never fully understood, and yet it stirred something deep inside him.

As he read more of the journal, something shifted within him. His mind wandered back to his own life, to his relationship with Leena. In the early days, he had believed what he was feeling was love. But as time wore on, the truth became clearer—what he had mistaken for love was, in fact, a complicated mix of attraction and curiosity. The man who had written in that journal, though—he had something deeper. That was love. True love. The kind of love that transcended the mundane, the kind that grew between two people who understood each other at their core.

Tech had never felt that way about Leena. The more he reflected, the more he realized the misalignment in their marriage. There had always been a part of him that knew something was missing, something vital that wasn’t there. He had tried to fill the void with material things, with a change of scenery, with the hope that a new house, a fresh start, would fix everything. But it hadn’t.

He hadn’t understood it at the time, but now, after reading the journal, he saw it for what it truly was. He had been holding on to the idea of love, but he had never really known it. Not until he read the words of someone who had truly experienced it. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

That was why he had gotten so angry when Leena had suggested covering up the initials carved into the wood. They were more than just letters etched into a beam—they were a testament to something real, something that existed long before he had arrived. Love had been in these walls, in the house itself, long before he came to claim it as his own. To erase those marks, to wipe away the evidence of something genuine, would have been a violation—a moral boundary he couldn’t cross.

The initials, K and M, were a mystery he hadn’t solved yet, but he felt a deep obligation to respect them, to honor whoever they had been. He had no illusions about who they might have been, but he imagined them as an older couple, perhaps, whose love had lasted a lifetime before death had taken them away. They had left behind something priceless, something Tech could never hope to replace. In some strange way, he owed it to them—and to himself—to respect the depth of their bond by leaving the initials. 

As he stood there, feeling the weight of Marina’s gaze on him once again, searching for the unspoken reason behind his decision to leave the initials intact, Tech found himself caught in a moment of hesitation. The question lingered in the air between them, but something in her eyes made him reconsider his instinct to retreat further into silence. Perhaps it was time to let someone in, even if that someone was a stranger. For once, sharing his thoughts—no matter how raw or uncomfortable—might offer him a sense of relief. The words he had kept buried were only making him feel restless and untethered. And Marina, unlike anyone else on this island, had no ties to the chaos of his past or any allegiance to the people who had once been a part of it. There was no judgment here—no baggage. Only the space to speak freely.

He exhaled slowly, his voice coming out quieter than he expected. "I found a journal when I first began to repair this abandoned house. It was the property of the previous owner. And when I read through his writing, it felt wrong—wrong to cover up something he had etched with love." He paused, searching for the right words. "I admit, I didn’t fully understand the meaning of love until I saw it in his words. The way he expressed it, so openly, so beautifully... It made me realize that what I thought I had known, what I thought I was feeling, wasn’t love at all."

As he spoke, something inside him shifted, like a heavy weight had been lifted ever so slightly. Putting those thoughts into words, even if only for her to hear, felt like a small but significant release. For the first time, he wasn’t just ruminating on the pain in his own mind—he was putting it out there, allowing the space between them to hold it for a moment. The vulnerability wasn’t as frightening as he had anticipated. And maybe, just maybe, sharing it with someone who had no prior knowledge of his life would allow him to make sense of it all.

For a long moment, the silence between them was filled with an unspoken understanding, as though the weight of his confession had silently settled between them. The air felt heavier now, charged with something neither of them could fully articulate. He could sense her hesitation to break the stillness, but eventually, her voice broke through the quiet.

"Would it be... alright if I saw it?" she asked, her tone gentle but laced with curiosity. Her words hung in the air, almost as if she feared he might reject the request, but there was something in her demeanor—something soft yet unwavering—that told him she wasn’t just asking out of idle curiosity. There was a sincerity to her tone, a sense that she held a reverence for people who once occupied this space. 

Depending on how long she had been here, Tech realized that perhaps she did know the couple, and could provide him more clarity on them. He gave a slow nod, his fingers instinctively reaching for the drawer where he had tucked the journal away. He opened it carefully, feeling the weight of the leather-bound cover in his hands. Without a word, he handed her the journal, his fingers brushing lightly against hers as he passed it over.

Marina accepted it with quiet reverence, her fingers brushing over the cover before she opened it slowly. Her eyes scanned the first few pages, her brow furrowing slightly as she absorbed the words. It was clear from the subtle change in her expression that she was paying close attention, each line of writing seeming to draw her in deeper. She didn’t speak at first, simply turning the pages with quiet deliberation, as if allowing the emotions within the journal to wash over her in their entirety.

“Oh, Keiron…” she whispered softly, her fingers tracing the delicate script as she flipped through the pages. The name hung in the air like a soft breeze, charged with an emotional weight that both puzzled and intrigued Tech. Keiron. The man who had written all of this—Tech’s first true glimpse into the life and mind of the previous owner. His chest tightened at the realization, the unspoken connection between Marina and this mysterious figure suddenly feeling very real.

For a moment, the world outside the journal seemed to fade away, and all Tech could do was watch as Marina continued to read, her eyes flicking back and forth across the page, the weight of the words pulling her deeper into a place Tech wasn’t sure he had permission to enter.

Keiron

That name lingered in the silence, and Tech’s curiosity got the better of him. His voice broke through the stillness, more tentative than he’d like, but desperate to understand more about the person who had written those words, the man whose mind had so captivated him.

“Did you know the man who lived here?” he asked quietly, the question feeling too blunt, too direct, but his need to know couldn’t be contained any longer.

At the sound of his voice, Marina’s head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto his with a jolt of shock. Her mouth parted in surprise, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with tension. Then, as if she were physically shaking off the sudden rush of emotion, she blinked rapidly and refocused on him, her composure returning as quickly as it had faltered.

“I would like to hope I did,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her eyes were guarded, as if her words held more than she was willing to say. Her cryptic response hung in the air, thick with implication, but she didn’t offer more.

Tech’s brow furrowed. He could sense there was more to the statement, something unspoken that she wasn’t ready to share. But what did she mean? The question echoed in his mind, unanswered for now. Did she mean she had known him well, or was her answer steeped in more regret, or perhaps loss? For a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and loaded with questions.

Marina broke the silence before he could decide, her gaze drifting once again to the wall, focusing on the carved initials. Her eyes softened as she stared at them, and her voice, when it came, was quieter, tinged with an emotion that had been carefully hidden until now.

“We were so young when he insisted on doing that,” she murmured, almost to herself, her fingers once again tracing the patterns on the wall. The words were like a crack in a dam—small, but enough to let the flood of memories surge.

Suddenly, it all made sense to Tech. Her quiet familiarity with the house, the way she had seemed to almost own the space, as if it had once been hers. The way she had observed everything so intently—almost as if she were measuring it, wondering what had changed. The way she had wanted to know about the marks left untouched. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was something personal, something deeper.

M. Marina.

“This was your home once,” Tech spoke softly, stepping closer, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. It was clear to him now, but saying it aloud felt like acknowledging a sacred truth. The house had been hers. The space, the memories, the echoes of love and life—it all belonged to her.

Marina didn’t respond immediately, but her eyes met his again, and with a quiet nod, she confirmed what he had already guessed. Her face was open now, but the layers of emotion she carried were still carefully folded beneath the surface.

“And…” Tech hesitated, not wanting to rush into the next question, yet unable to hold back the final piece of the puzzle. “Keiron?”

Her breath caught, and when she spoke his name this time, it was louder, more certain. The name had power, weight, history. And with it came the quiet ache of a love lost.

“Keiron,” she repeated, her voice thick with memory. Then, without hesitation, she met his gaze fully. “He was my husband.”

Tech’s heart skipped a beat, the depth of her words sinking in like stones in still water. She had been married to Keiron, the man who had crafted the journal, the man whose intimate, tender writings had resonated so strongly with Tech. Now it all made sense—everything from the journal to the carved initials on the wall. The connection, the emotional undertone in her voice when she spoke of him… it wasn’t just the story of a stranger to Tech. It was the story of someone who had once shared his own kind of love with Marina, someone whose presence lingered in the house even now, despite the passage of time.

The silence stretched between them again, but this time it wasn’t oppressive. It was filled with the weight of understanding, a mutual recognition that neither of them had to speak further. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if the house itself, with all its memories, was bearing witness to this quiet exchange.

Marina seemed to struggle for a moment, her lips pressing together as she looked down at her hands, fingers still lightly brushing against the journal’s pages. Tech knew she was far from finished, that there was more buried beneath the surface. But for now, the revelation hung in the air, and neither of them seemed ready to push it any further.

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond,” Tech admitted, his voice steady, though the weight of her words seemed to settle around him, heavier than expected.

“That’s okay,” Marina replied softly, her voice carrying a certain quiet strength, as if she had come to terms with the uncertainty long ago. “No one really knows how to respond, especially when it’s someone like Keiron.” She paused, as if weighing her thoughts carefully before continuing. “Keiron was adored by nearly everyone he met. His energy, his ideas… they captivated people, and they still do, even after all this time.”

She trailed off for a moment, eyes drifting down to the journal in her hands. A brief flicker of something—a mix of longing and sorrow—crossed her face before she refocused, meeting his gaze again. “I was... on the outskirts. I was never a part of that. Not really. I didn’t fit in the way people expected me to.”

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, something she rarely allowed to show. But now, in the stillness of the room, with the journal in her hands and the memories clearly flooding her mind, it felt as though she could no longer keep the walls entirely intact.

“When Keiron died,” she continued, her voice steady but tinged with something raw, “I... I just wanted to remove myself from all of it. From the well-meaning words, the empty gestures, the apathy thinly disguised as empathy.”

Her gaze hardened slightly, a subtle bitterness creeping into her tone. “Everyone around me acted as though they understood. As though they cared—but I knew better. They were offering their sympathy, but none of them truly saw me. They couldn’t, not in the way I needed them to. So I stepped back. I kept my distance from their hollow kindness.”

Tech listened in silence, his expression softened. Her words carried a weight of grief that she had clearly carried alone for far too long. He could sense the pain behind her detachment, the desire to find some kind of solace away from the world’s expectations. It struck him then, how much she had endured, not just in losing Keiron, but in the isolation she had been left with after his death.

It was a sorrow Tech could understand, in his own way. The loneliness of being misunderstood. The exhaustion of pretending to be okay when everything inside you was breaking apart. The quiet realization that no one could truly fill the spaces left behind. He didn’t know what to say. Words felt insufficient in the face of what she had revealed. But he couldn’t just let the silence stretch between them either, not after hearing her truth.

“I feel like everyone’s silently blaming me for not doing enough to save my marriage,” Tech confessed, his voice quiet but laced with an underlying tension. “It’s as if I could have done more, should have fought harder, but the truth is... the marriage was doomed from the start. We were so fundamentally misaligned. The chaos, the uncertainty, the aftermath of nearly dying myself—it pushed us into a place we never should’ve gone. We tried to force something that was never meant to be.”

He exhaled slowly, as if letting the weight of the words out of his chest might make them easier to bear. “No matter how much I try to explain it, to make them understand that I wasn’t blind to it, that I felt the disconnect from the beginning, I can’t shake the guilt. Guilt for letting myself fall into something I knew wasn’t right, for indulging it, for allowing myself to pretend everything was fine when it was so far from it. But the worst part is… I still feel like it’s all my fault. That somehow, if I’d fought harder, if I’d been someone else, things could’ve been different.”

There was a long pause as he let the silence stretch between them, a quiet that felt oddly heavy, but also a little freeing. Sharing this with Marina wasn’t something he had planned on, but now that he had spoken it aloud, there was a sense of catharsis. He hadn’t realized just how much he was carrying until he voiced it—how much guilt, how much self-blame.

He glanced at Marina, unsure of how she would respond. Sure, he hadn’t lost Leena—she was still out there, still a part of the world. But in the end, he had lost something far more significant in that marriage. He had lost sight of who he was, what he wanted, what he needed. In the process of trying to make it work, he’d buried pieces of himself, sacrificed his identity to fit into a mold that wasn’t his. And when he tried to reclaim that lost part of himself, to become whole again, he had been vilified by those closest to him.

It was a struggle he wasn’t sure anyone could fully understand. How do you explain the complexity of something so personal, so raw, without being judged or misunderstood? How do you explain the self-doubt and the heavy weight of knowing you were both the architect and the casualty of your own mistakes?

Marina’s silence gave him the time he needed to process it all, but also, her quiet presence seemed to make him feel less alone in the weight of it.

“People don’t get it,” he murmured, almost to himself. “They see the end result, the way it fell apart, and they think they understand. But they don’t see the months, the years, the silent erosion of everything you once thought was solid. It’s not just about losing someone; it’s about losing yourself in the process. And when that happens, there’s no easy way back.”

She broke the silence with a lighthearted remark, the sound of her voice easing the tension in the room. "It sounds like you need better friends," she said, placing the journal carefully on the workbench and turning her gaze toward him.

Her attempt to lighten the mood was clear, and Tech found himself quietly grateful for it. The somber conversation had been heavy, and he was relieved to have the atmosphere shift, even if just a little. He let out a soft breath, shaking off the weight of his thoughts. Taking the conversational olive branch, he responded with a hint of a smile, "It sounds like you do as well."

She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful, though there was a quiet intensity to it as she leaned in just slightly. "Is that an offer to fill a vacancy, or is it rhetorical?"

Tech smirked at her response. "Could it not be both?"

"I suppose you’re right," she replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes flicking back to the engine, which they had both been working on for what felt like hours. The work was slow, but there was a certain satisfaction in the process, even if neither of them had made major progress yet.

After a beat of quiet contemplation, Marina shifted slightly, crossing her arms as she looked at him with renewed focus. "How about we make some caf, and burn the midnight oil trying to get this thing running again?" Her voice had softened with resolve. "I meant what I said earlier—I’d like to learn. Keiron, he was always the one better at this kind of thing. I do my best with what I know, but... it would be nice to have the knowledge on my own."

There was a quiet vulnerability in her words, a sincerity that made Tech pause for a moment, taking in the weight of what she was saying. She wasn’t just asking to learn mechanics; she was seeking autonomy, a sense of agency over her own life, something that had been influenced and shaped by the void of someone else for so long. It also sounded like a request for some companionship in their shared loss. Hers much more substantial, but his more raw.

Tech nodded, his gaze softening as he responded. "I think that sounds good. It gets quiet out here, and I wouldn’t mind the company either. I’ll get the pot started, and we can dive back into this mess. And who knows, maybe we’ll even get it running by sunrise."

Marina nodded, her eyes brightening with a flicker of something—perhaps a spark of hope or even a touch of excitement for the night ahead. "We’ll see," she said, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "But I’ll take that challenge."

With that, the silence between them lost its tension. It became a quiet hum of possibility, the gentle rhythm of two people, each in their own way, seeking to make sense of the fragments they held, working toward putting the pieces back together again.

Art but the wonderful @leenathegreengirl!

Next Chapter HERE

Baldur's Gate, but they're all ensigns on a Galaxy-class starship

かわいい❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

How can he be this cute? 💕

Between Hearts and Ruin Pt. 3 "Spontaneity"

Summary: Tech and Leena’s marriage is strained, with mounting tensions that leave Tech feeling exhausted from carrying the weight of trying to fix their issues. Despite his efforts, he’s reached a breaking point, unsure of how much longer he can continue. The same night Tech starts to find some peace with his uncertain decision about their future, he meets someone new, stirring unexpected feelings. Meanwhile, Leena, who isn’t ready to let go, finds solace in the company of someone she knows only vaguely. Both are left questioning the path forward, caught between their unresolved past and the pull of new, uncharted connections.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing(s): Tech / OC Leena

Warnings: Mentions of splitting up

Author's Note: Hi friends! This is a 3 part story crossover between myself and @leenathegreengirl! All characters are part of her Pabu AU. All other chapters will be posted at the same time and linked below. Please check out her page to learn more about the AU if you are new, and if you have stuck around for a while... buckle up because it's going to get intense... You can find a link HERE on her account to a book version of the full story!

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

She distanced herself from the others, as the temptation to defy her twin's warning only intensified. It felt unjust—every single part of it. Despite the way Leena had recoiled at Kayden's harsh words about Tech, the pull to see him again was undeniable. She needed to confront him. She wanted to yell at him, to voice every frustration she’d been holding in. But more than anything, she yearned to break down in front of him, to cry—to make him feel the weight of the guilt that seemed so well-deserved for the things he was doing.

It didn’t matter that her stomach churned with a relentless storm of anxiety from the cruel words spoken about the clash between her and Tech’s natures. It didn’t matter that the past few months had left her feeling like a stranger to her own happiness. Because despite everything, despite the doubt, she was happy. What did they know of her life, of her heart? They weren’t her. They couldn’t possibly understand how she truly felt.

Kayden bringing up their childhood was utterly absurd. People were allowed to grow, to evolve, to leave behind the mistakes of their younger selves. Holding someone to the standards they had set as children—before they’d even fully understood who they were—was beyond unfair, Leena thought. It was a betrayal of the very idea of change, of the human capacity to learn and improve.

Leena could feel the shift in perspective over the past few weeks, a quiet and subtle transformation that gnawed at her from the inside. At first, when she stormed into the room at the tail end of Kayden's proposal from Crosshair, everyone had rallied behind her. They had been on her side. But as time passed, things began to change. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, everyone seemed to be lured in by Tech’s explanation. Even her own sister—her closest confidante—began to lean toward the idea that Tech wasn’t entirely to blame, that perhaps their marriage was worth giving up.

And Leena? She was left questioning everything.

She couldn't shake the feeling that Crosshair was at the heart of it all. He’d been one of the first to listen to Tech’s side of the story, and from that moment on, things had started to shift. Whenever she collapsed into their living room, her heart shattered and her body wracked with sobs as she clung to Kayden, Crosshair was the first to slip away, retreating to his room when her grief became too much. And then, at night, she would hear it—the whispers. Muffled, fragmented conversations slipping through the cracks of their walls, barely audible but unmistakably mentioning her name, and Tech’s, woven together in murmurs that felt too intimate for her to ignore.

Kayden’s unwavering support was no longer a guarantee, and the sting of that realization was sharper than anything else she had felt. The whispers in the dark—those hushed, secretive murmurs slipping through the walls—echoed her deepest fears: she was losing everyone, piece by piece. The people she had relied on, the ones she trusted to stand with her, were slipping away. She had been left behind with nothing but excuses. It was supposed to be her side they stood on.

As Leena walked the familiar path back to the secluded bungalow she knew Tech had retreated to, the weight of it all pressed down on her. Her mind wandered back to the moment everything began to unravel, to the conversation that had changed the course of everything. The words exchanged between her and Tech, so sharp and final, had felt like a blow to her heart. And yet, she couldn’t quite shake the memory—the way Tech had looked at her then, his eyes a mixture of regret and resignation, as if he was already preparing to walk away before he had even spoken the words. Not to mention the only time she’d ever actually seen him angry.

"Leena, would you please sit down?" Tech’s voice carried from the other room, frustration unmistakable in his tone.

She had perched herself on the edge of the counter of the fresher, trying to hurriedly get ready. Plans with Chori had been set, and that meant she had to leave soon. But as she’d returned to the house later than expected—caught up in the distraction she couldn’t quite place any more—she lost track of time. Sitting at the table, watching Tech work, the minutes slipped away unnoticed. It wasn’t uncommon for her to get caught in the flow of things, and Chori had long since grown accustomed to her tendency to lose herself in the moment.

“I’m not sure I have time before I leave to meet Chori,” she called out, her voice drifting over her shoulder as she rushed to finish her makeup. The faint rustling in the next room paused for a beat, but Leena didn’t give it much thought at first. She was too focused on the mirror in front of her, on the task at hand. But when a long, exasperated sigh followed, she felt a knot tighten in her chest. She hastened the final touches, fingers trembling slightly as she tried to speed through the motions.

Tech didn’t respond. Leena assumed he was just settling in for some quiet time, perhaps planning to relax on his own for a while. But as she moved toward the door, preparing to grab her jacket and leave, she heard him clear his throat, his voice cutting through the air with unexpected gravity.

“You promised we would have the conversation I mentioned a week ago,” he began, his tone measured but sharp. “I feel I have been patient enough, but the timing seems to change constantly to accommodate your schedule. I do not think it is fair to—”

Leena’s gaze flickered to the wall display, catching sight of the time. Her heart skipped. She was already running late. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush, “I promise we’ll have it when I get back—”

“Please do not interrupt me,” he cut in, his tone firm as he finally turned his gaze toward her. Leena nodded, her eyes briefly flicking back to the wall before she met his again.

“Tech, I’m already late,” she pointed out, her voice strained as she tried to reason with him, but he refused to turn toward her to acknowledge her words. Instead, he shook his head slowly, his frustration only growing.

“As a result of your own distraction,” he continued, his voice tight. “First, it was because you got held up with Omega. Then it was helping Crosshair plan some surprise for Kayden. Every time I try to have a serious conversation, something else always comes up. I’m continually sidelined. These promises made and not kept are becoming increasingly frustrating.”

Leena’s pulse quickened, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy cloak. His accusations hung in the air, thick with frustration, and for a moment, she could only stand there, caught between the need to explain herself and the mounting pressure to leave.

“I know I’ve been distracted, Tech,” she said, her voice tight, but there was a flicker of defensiveness in it too. “But you can’t keep acting like the world revolves around your schedule. I’m trying to juggle a million things. I have things to do too.”

She could feel the tension rising in the room, the space between them filled with the unspoken words neither of them wanted to say. She glanced at the door again, willing herself to walk out, but her feet felt like they were stuck to the floor.

Tech’s eyes were cold now, a calm but sharp anger that sent a chill down her spine. “That’s exactly the problem, Leena,” he replied, his voice deceptively quiet. “You are prioritizing everything except promises made to me. I’ve been patient, but this... this is becoming a pattern. We keep putting it off, and I can’t keep pretending that it does not bother me.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, the urge to leave becoming overwhelming. Why did everything have to feel like this? She had wanted to escape this conversation, to get away from the suffocating weight of it all, but now she felt trapped, both by his words and by her own inability to walk away.

“I have prioritized you!” she snapped, the frustration bubbling over before she could stop it. “You so often work late into the evenings with little to no regard for me. How often lately have you neglected to attend plans with me to see our friends? You just hole yourself up in this stuffy house and work. I can’t live like that. I have a life outside of you, Tech.  And you’re not the only one who’s been patient here. I have been patient with you.  I told you we will have the conversation at some other time.”

Tech stood there for a long moment, just looking at her, as if weighing her every word. His jaw clenched, and she saw his expression harden, the faintest flicker of disappointment passing across his face before he masked it.

“This isn’t about your life outside of me,” Tech said, his voice low but steady, the weight of his words pressing into the space between them. “This is about the commitment we made to each other—the trust that’s supposed to be the foundation of this. And I can’t keep pushing my feelings aside while you run off to others, ignoring something I consider to be incredibly important.”

Leena’s jaw tightened, and the sharp sting of frustration burned in her chest. She crossed her arms, the familiar defensiveness rising within her. “Fine. I’m the bad guy,” she bit out, sarcasm coating her words. “Glad we’ve established that, Tech. You’re right. I’m wrong. Same as always. Can I just go meet up with my friend now? I know you don’t understand what it’s like to want to be around other people.”

Tech’s eyes flashed, and the chill in his gaze sharpened. “That’s not only inaccurate, but it’s also unnecessary. And childish,” he scoffed, clearly displeased with her tone.

Leena felt the sharp edge of his words, but she wasn’t backing down. She could feel the heat rising in her chest, her temper flaring, but also a deep frustration with the way he was trying to frame the situation. She knew it was a low blow on her part, especially considering that Tech did have friends—people he was close to, even if they didn’t share the same emotional reliance on others that she did. She knew they were wired differently in that regard. But at this moment, it didn’t matter. Her anger at him derailing her plans, turning what should’ve been a simple, enjoyable evening into a guilt-laden argument, was growing unbearable.

“There it is,” Leena said, her voice dripping with frustration. “It’s always childish when it’s something you don’t like. It’s childish for me to want to have spontaneous dance sessions in my kitchen with my partner. It’s childish for me to fill the bed with plushies because my partner won’t sleep next to me unless he’s exhausted. You always do this, Tech. You make me feel like I can’t be myself—like I can’t be spontaneous. And that hurts.”

Her voice wavered as the frustration bled into sadness, a deep ache rising in her chest. She had always prided herself on being free-spirited, willing to embrace the little moments, to laugh, to dance, to find joy in things that didn’t always fit into a neatly organized box. But here he was, once again, pulling her back into the rigid structure he clung to, forcing her to bend and twist herself into a shape that didn’t feel like her own.

Leena took a slow breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of it all was too much. She was tired—tired of feeling like her happiness, her quirks, were something to be judged. She was tired of always having to conform to his routines, his quiet, methodical approach to life. She didn’t work that way, and it felt like every time she tried to break free, to embrace the unpredictable, she was made to feel small, childish.

Tech’s response was sharp, cutting through the moment. “It is childish the way you’re acting right now, Leena. I will not apologize for calling the situation as I see it. I asked for a discussion, and you made promises to have it several times. You keep brushing my request aside. You’re the one breaking your word. When I brought it up last time, you said tonight was a good time to talk. And now, once again, you’re neglecting me. That is you, going back on your word. I don’t see how holding my partner to their promises is something I should be villainized for.”

Leena felt the sting of his words, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. “It’s not about breaking promises, Tech,” she countered, her voice rising with the force of her emotions. “It’s about you treating me like my needs—my desire to be spontaneous—don’t matter. And now you say I’m ignoring your needs,”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss in the first place, Leena!” Tech’s voice was sharp now, the calm that usually defined him slipping away with his growing frustration. “I’ve been here, trying to better suit your needs. Every time you don’t like the words coming out of my mouth, you pull back into this state of trying to appeal to me through guilt, turning it into a smaller, more irrelevant issue. This—it’s becoming the most exhausting, repetitive argument we continue to keep having. It’s starting to feel like I’m stuck in the most unpleasant routine and I can’t break out of it.”

He stepped forward, his body tense, as his usual calm demeanor shifted into something more urgent, more impassioned. Leena could see the shift in him, the subtle but undeniable way his frustration was mounting, spilling over in a way that surprised her. She had expected him to remain composed, to be the steady, logical one—but now, there was a new intensity in his voice.

“Let me make this very clear,” he continued, his words more measured, but still laced with an undercurrent of frustration. “Just because I’m not like you, doesn’t mean I judge you or think any less of you. I respect you, Leena. I respect the individual person you are, and I’ve made an effort to accommodate the differences between us. But when you keep pushing my boundaries, trying to force me to be something I’m not, simply to make me more like you—it feels unfair. Your constant quest to reshape me into someone who thinks and behaves exactly like you doesn’t feel like love or compromise. It feels like control. It puts me in the position of being unable to fulfill your needs and that hurts. You know I pride myself on being able to solve problems but your never ending void of things that are ‘wrong’ with me or ‘wrong’ with how we function seem insurmountable.”

Leena’s chest tightened as she processed his words. She hadn’t expected him to voice this so bluntly, to lay it out with such intensity. She had always felt the differences between them, but hearing him speak so plainly about it made her realize how deeply this was affecting him.

“Every time we address these issues, you cry, demand that I comfort you, and then there’s no real change. No effort to understand my needs. It’s always a list of new things you need me to alter about myself so that you can be happy,” Tech said, his voice low now, tinged with a bitterness that Leena had never heard from him before.

“I can’t even fully blame you for all of this,” Tech began, his voice quieter now, but still heavy with emotion. “I’ve continually made the effort to accommodate your requests, even when they make me incredibly uncomfortable. I’ve tried to meet you where you are, even when it meant pushing aside my own boundaries. And yes, I acknowledge that there are times when I’ve been unfair to you, too. But this whole situation—it’s leaving both of us so unfulfilled. I can feel it, Leena. I can see it in the way you avoid being around me. You’re gone so much now, and the truth is... we’re both miserable. I don’t think either of us knows how to fix it anymore.”

His words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of everything they had both been avoiding. There was no anger in his voice now—just resignation. But it stung all the more. The quiet truth of his statement settled in her chest like a lead weight, and for a moment, all she could do was breathe, her thoughts spiraling.

But before she could respond, he continued, his voice taking on the familiar cadence she had come to dread. “We both know this isn’t working. We both know we’re just going through the motions, and pretending everything’s fine isn’t helping either of us. I’m tired of waiting for things to change when it seems unlikely given the depth these issues—”

“Stop. Tech, stop talking right now,” Leena interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to break the flow of his words. A chill swept over her as she felt the shift in his tone. That shift from frustration to the all-too-familiar, clinical, matter-of-fact way he spoke when he was trying to distance himself emotionally. It wasn’t anger anymore, but it felt even worse. He wasn’t mad at her—he was simply... resigned. Detached.

The same tone that always made her feel like she wasn’t capable of understanding the bigger picture. The same tone that made her feel small, as though she were simply too naïve, too impulsive, to grasp the full weight of the situation. It was the voice that stripped her of any agency in their relationship. The voice that made her feel ignorant—like a child fumbling in the dark while he watched from above, quietly disappointed.

Her pulse quickened as she tried to steady herself, but the feeling of inadequacy washed over her. She hated that tone.

“Leena,” Tech’s voice was soft, but it still carried the weight of everything that had been unsaid between them. She immediately shook her head, as if the simple motion could shut out the truth he was about to speak.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, her voice strained, a desperate quietness to it as she tried to keep her composure.

“Leena, please—” he urged, stepping closer, his voice laced with a combination of concern and frustration. But it was too much. The words she didn’t want to hear, the thoughts she didn’t want him to share, felt like they were suffocating her.

“No.” She snapped, her hands flying to her ears, covering them as if the simple act of blocking out his voice could erase everything he was trying to communicate. Her eyes squeezed shut, the darkness behind her eyelids somehow offering a false sense of control as she tried to steady her breath, desperately trying to hold herself together.

But it was no use. The emotions that had been building inside of her for what felt like an eternity, the pressure that had been quietly simmering beneath the surface, all erupted at once. She couldn’t stop the tears anymore.

And then, just as she thought she might be able to pull herself together, she felt his hands. His touch was firm, grounding her in place, but it wasn’t the kind of touch she wanted. His hands rested on her shoulders with careful distance, a space between them, as if he was trying to steady her without crossing that invisible line. It was meant to be comforting—she could tell—but in that moment, it felt like a thousand miles away.

The tears came faster now, hot and raw, filling the room with a desperate sorrow that she couldn’t contain. She shook with the intensity of it, her chest heaving with the force of her sobs. Every part of her wanted to collapse into him, to feel his warmth, his comfort—something that would anchor her in the midst of her chaos—but he was so far away, physically and emotionally.

Without thinking, she reached out, hands trembling as they grasped at the empty air, desperate to close the distance between them. She wanted to pull him into her, to hold onto him so tightly that the words and the pain and everything else would just go away. But no matter how much she stretched her arms toward him, he remained just out of reach, keeping her at a distance from his chest.

Her body trembled as she fought against the overwhelming wave of emotion crashing over her. The sobs filled the space around them, echoing through the cottage as she cried out in frustration, in helplessness, in all the things she couldn’t put into words. She was too far gone to hide it anymore.

“Why won’t you just hold me?” she whispered through the tears, her voice breaking. It was the simplest of requests, but the hardest one to make. Tech’s grip on her shoulders tightened ever so slightly, but his words still hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken distance between them. 

“Because I refuse to play into this cycle any longer, Leena,” Tech’s voice was firm, but the undercurrent of frustration was clear. “I need space. I need—”

But before he could finish, Leena’s anger surged. Without warning, she shoved him away, the force of her actions surprising them both. The movement was desperate, a physical manifestation of everything she had been holding back.

Without a second thought, she turned and ran for the door, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of their conversation too much to bear. She couldn’t hear anything else he had to say, nor did she want to. The words, the distance, the suffocating silence between them—it was all too overwhelming.

Her hand was already on the door handle, and she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Tech didn’t call out after her. He didn’t chase her, didn’t try to stop her. Instead, he just stood there, rooted in place, his eyes locked on her retreating figure. His expression remained unreadable, distant. It was as if he had already accepted her departure—like it was inevitable.

He let her go.

The silence that filled the space in the wake of her exit felt louder than anything she had ever heard before.

Leena’s steps quickened, each stride growing more forceful, more determined. The anger bubbled up inside her, each step pushing it higher. It felt like it was all she’d been living in since that moment: a constant, exhausting cycle of sadness, anger, and a gnawing confusion that never seemed to let up.

It left her spiraling, caught in a whirlwind of hurt and the desperate need to take action. She wanted him to feel the weight of what he’d done, to make him realize the depth of the pain and come back, to fight for what they had left. She wanted the validation of everyone else to agree with her, to have them all stand beside her, reaffirming that she wasn’t the one who had caused this rift. She wanted everything to fall back into place, to go back to the way it was before—before the arguments, the distance, before they had become strangers in their own relationship.

But the truth was, Leena wasn’t ready to face the reality that some of what Tech had said that night had struck a chord within her. The words he’d thrown at her—harsh as they were—had a ring of truth she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge. To admit it would feel like admitting defeat, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

That’s why she needed to speak with him so desperately. She wanted to apologize, to beg him to understand that she never meant to hurt him, to make him feel like he had to carry all the weight of their struggles alone. She wanted to show him that she was willing to put her needs aside if it meant he would stay, that she would bend, just as he had, to make it work.

As Leena neared the last few rows of houses, the jungle looming just beyond them, she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her—both physical and emotional. Her mind was still reeling from the night’s events, from the weight of the argument and the hollow space it left in her chest. Distracted by her turmoil, her footing slipped, and before she could brace herself, her knees slammed against the cold stone with an unforgiving force.

The pain shot through her, but it wasn’t just the physical ache that struck hardest—it was the crushing weight of everything she had been trying to avoid. Kneeling there on the unforgiving streets, her knees bleeding slightly from the scuff, the rawness of her emotions overwhelmed her. For a moment, she felt as though the fire that had been pushing her forward—driving her to act, to fight—dissipated entirely.

Something about being sprawled on the ground, her body aching and vulnerable, made the internal storm inside her grow even more unbearable. It was like the final nail in the coffin, the moment when the fight in her finally seemed to wither. The hurt wasn’t just physical; it felt like suffocation, like being trapped beneath water for far too long, your lungs desperate for air but unable to find it. It felt like being wedged into a tight space, your limbs aching from the lack of freedom, a constant tension in your muscles that couldn’t be relieved. It was a constant throbbing in her skull, as if the pain would never cease.

And the embarrassment. The sting of humiliation surged through her, as though her world had just crumbled on display. She prayed—more than anything—that no one had witnessed her fall. Please, don’t let anyone have seen. This entire situation had become an embarrassment in itself. Their loved ones, once supportive, now watched in silence as everything between her and Tech unraveled. She couldn’t bear how everyone else seemed to be finding their own happiness while her world came crashing down in slow motion. It was suffocating, their pity hanging around her like a dark cloud.

Part of her longed for the sympathy, craving it as some sort of validation. Yet another part of her resented it, hating the feeling of being seen as weak, broken, unable to manage her own life. This constant storm of conflicting emotions felt like it was tearing her in two. She could never quite tell which side of her thoughts would win out—one minute she was angry, the next, she was desperate for someone to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But it never was.

“Leena?” came a voice from behind her, loud but gentle. It held an unexpected weight that broke through her spiral of thoughts. It was a clone—though not one of the batch. Their voices were all uniquely altered by their enhancements, and after spending time around the “regs,” Leena had learned to recognize a handful of them, though their voices often blended together in her mind. Still, the voice was unfamiliar enough to be a comfort, a momentary distraction from the mess she felt she was drowning in.

Leena heard the shuffling of footsteps growing closer, the soft sound of boots dragging against stone until they stopped just in front of her scraped knees. She couldn’t bring herself to look up. Looking up meant meeting their gaze, exposing just how deeply she was affected by everything that had happened. She wasn’t ready for that—wasn’t ready for someone to see her so raw, so vulnerable. Especially not someone like Rex or Jesse. They were both good men, people she respected, but the thought of receiving an awkward pep talk from someone who shared so many of the same traits as the man who had just broken her heart felt unbearable. It wasn’t just that they were clones—it was that they shared his essence, and right now, everything about that made her skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to wave them off, her voice barely above a whisper. She hoped it was enough to send them away, but as she shifted slightly, there was a sudden movement that made her freeze. Whoever it was didn’t retreat. Instead, they knelt down beside her.

“You’re bleeding,” they said, their voice soft but laced with concern. Then they sucked in a breath, clearly startled by what they saw. “And… you’ve uh… been crying.”

Leena squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to break again. The words hung in the air, heavy with truth, and she hated hearing them. Hated that someone had seen her like this, completely unraveling. But even as the harshness of it hit her, something in their tone made her pause. It wasn’t judgment, wasn’t pity—it was simply a quiet recognition of her pain, and that somehow made it worse. In the solitude of her emotions, she had convinced herself that no one noticed, that she could slip away unnoticed. But here they were, kneeling next to her, acknowledging everything she had tried to bury.

“Yeah? I wonder why that is?” Leena retorted with a sharp, sarcastic edge in her voice, her words dripping with frustration. She hoped the tension in her tone would make it clear that she really didn’t want company right now. The sting of her emotions was still too raw, and the last thing she needed was someone trying to console her. It was easier to be cold with this man, whoever he was, than to face the reality of what had just happened. She couldn’t take her anger out on Tech—he wasn’t there to receive it—but that didn’t mean her frustration wasn’t bubbling over. This stranger would be an easier target for her bitterness, she thought.

The response came slowly, almost like they were testing the waters. "Uh... because you fell and hurt yourself?" Their voice was cautious, as if trying to gauge her reaction, unsure whether to push further or retreat.

Leena stiffened at the answer. It was simple, logical—but it only served to highlight how much she’d failed to keep her emotions in check. Fallen, hurt herself. It seemed like such a small thing, something that could easily be brushed off, but the truth was far more complicated. It was the culmination of everything she had been struggling with, everything that had been building up for days. And now, here she was—scraped knees and face full of tears—and no one to share the weight of her broken heart with. Kayden had tried and she dismissed her. 

Her eyes burned with unshed tears as she finally glanced up at the figure kneeling next to her, but it wasn’t with the relief of someone ready to accept help. It was with the defiance of someone who was tired of feeling so out of control. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep the tears at bay. 

Leena took a moment to assess him, her gaze moving slowly over his appearance. Sweat clung to his skin, and his shaved head glistened in the dim light. It was a look she’d seen countless times before on the regs. Most of them kept their hair short, if they had any at all. Rex was one of the few exceptions she could think of, and even his hair was kept cropped closely. 

But the man before her, this particular clone, had something else that set him apart: the tattoos. Intricate blue patterns snaked up the side of his face and head, marking him with a kind of permanence that only soldiers like him seemed to wear proudly. The tattoos weren’t the only distinguishing feature, though. A few metal piercings caught in the light. But, it was the hearing aid that drew her eye next—an essential part of him, always there, a reminder of the harshness and endurance of his life.

Hardcase.

She wasn’t particularly close with Hardcase, but there was a certain sense of familiarity between them. They all shared the same space, the same friend group—living and working on the same isolated island. It created a bond, whether or not they acknowledged it. Hardcase had always been the kind of guy who radiated energy, someone who was constantly full of life and laughter. It was hard to pin down whether it was the result of surviving so many close calls with death or if that was just who he had always been. Either way, his presence was infectious. He was the kind of person who could easily lift a room with his humor and his reckless charm.

She knew he spent a lot of time with Wrecker—given their shared love of all things chaotic and physical—but beyond that, she’d never really spent time with him in an isolated setting. They were part of a larger group, a shared dynamic that never really allowed for individual connections to form outside the group context. And besides, Leena had never really felt the need for anything deeper with him.

There was an unspoken boundary in her mind, a line she’d never even considered crossing. Seeking companionship from another man while married had always felt... inappropriate, almost like a betrayal. It didn’t matter that Tech spent time with Mae—those moments had always felt different. Non-threatening, even. Leena had never felt any insecurity over that relationship. Mae was a friend, nothing more. But in her own case, even in the absence of anything beyond platonic with Hardcase, the thought of it felt wrong. It was a loyalty to Tech, to the life they had built together, that kept her from seeking out these kinds of connections.

Leena shook her head, almost frustrated with herself for even allowing her thoughts to wander in that direction. She hadn’t come here for this—to think, to question, or to even entertain the possibility that she was somehow drifting into unfamiliar territory. Yet, as she noticed Hardcase’s gaze lingering on her scraped knee, the care in his eyes almost felt like a gentle reminder of the kindness that had been missing in her own world lately. The thought of chasing after Tech in this moment didn’t seem right anymore.

Tonight had been a storm, an emotional chaos she couldn’t untangle in her mind, and maybe, just maybe, circling back when things weren’t so raw would be the better choice. Time had a way of settling tempers, she knew. It was just a matter of waiting for the tension to dissolve enough so they could both approach the conversation with clearer heads. Something about seeing a near stranger—someone as disconnected from her personal life as Hardcase—show the kind of concern that her own family hadn’t, made her pause. There was no history there, no emotional weight, and that made it easier for her to consider it without the usual walls going up. Hardcase’s detachment from her current situation allowed her a space to breathe, to think for once without everything being clouded by the overwhelming noise of what had just happened.

“It’s just a scratch,” she said quietly, trying to downplay it, but there was no fooling him. She watched as he shook his head, a subtle hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Still probably hurts,” he said, his voice gentle, but there was a knowing tone in it. He wasn’t dismissing it, but acknowledging the hurt in a way that seemed more... real. More understanding.

Leena’s gaze flickered instinctively to the side of his neck. It was there she saw the fading scars, a patchwork of history that spoke of battles fought and injuries endured. She’d heard stories about the extent of the damage he’d suffered—not just from the physical pain, but the emotional toll it had taken on him. She had seen him swim once or twice, the way the marks ran down his body, crisscrossing like an unfinished map. They were part of him, just like the carefree energy he always exuded. She had no idea how someone could endure that level of pain and come out on the other side seemingly unscathed, emotionally.

So when Hardcase's concern shifted to something as minor as her scraped knee, something about it caught Leena off guard. His concern felt genuine, untainted by her complicated history with Tech or her emotional baggage. It wasn’t about fixing anything—it was just care, unprompted and unassuming. A small, quiet gesture that she couldn’t help but find almost absurd in its simplicity. She couldn’t help it—she giggled, a soft sound that escaped her lips before she could stop it.

It was the first time in hours she had felt any sort of release, and it felt so good, so unexpected. Here was a man who’d faced real pain, real struggle, and yet he was tending to her small, insignificant injury like it was something that mattered. It was such a contrast to the suffocating silence she’d experienced all night. In that fleeting moment, something shifted inside her—this ridiculous, absurd giggle breaking through the wall she’d built up inside.

“Is that a laugh?” he asked, feigning shock, his voice teasing but with a soft edge of curiosity.

“Does it matter?” Leena replied, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of weariness. She shifted to sit more comfortably on her leg, the sharp stone and dirt bits pressing into her skin as she examined the scratches she’d earned from the fall. They were insignificant, really, but they seemed to mirror the small pains that had built up inside her over the past weeks, things she hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge.

“I think it does,” Hardcase shrugged with a faint smile, his gaze flicking to her as he reached into his pocket. Leena wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for, but when his hand emerged with a small piece of scrap cloth, she raised an eyebrow. It was odd, but then again, she had learned to expect the unexpected from people like him.

Without waiting for her to say anything, he passed it to her, and she took it with a quiet nod. The gesture, simple and unassuming, was oddly comforting. It wasn’t much—a scrap of fabric—but at this moment, it felt like a bridge over the distance she’d tried so hard to maintain between herself and others. Leena dabbed at her face, wiping away the evidence of tears she hadn’t noticed gathering until now. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice quieter as she focused on the task at hand. She hadn’t realized how much of a mess she’d become in the span of a few hours.

Hardcase didn’t reply right away, but his eyes held an understanding she hadn’t expected from someone she didn’t know well. “I can’t say I recall hearing one from you in a while,” he said after a beat, his voice softer than before, not mocking, just observant. It wasn’t an accusation, but an acknowledgment of what she’d been through, and it made her feel oddly seen.

Leena paused, her fingers tightening around the cloth for a moment. “It’s been a... rough time,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mind briefly flashed to the argument with Tech, the overwhelming tide of emotions, the disconnection she couldn’t seem to fix.

“That’s an understatement,” Hardcase said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. It was light, like he was trying to pull her from the depths of her own thoughts. “Sometimes we forget how to laugh. Or maybe we forget it’s okay to laugh. Even when things feel impossible.”

Leena’s eyes flicked to his face, studying him for a moment. There was a sincerity in his words that she wasn’t used to hearing from people, let alone someone she barely knew. It was like he saw through her outer walls, recognizing the fatigue in her that she’d been so desperate to hide.

“You don’t really know me,” she said softly, surprised by the vulnerability in her own words. "You probably think I’m just... over reacting, or something."

Hardcase shook his head, his expression softening, losing some of the usual guardedness that came with the military. “I think... you’re going through a really tough time. It’s okay to hurt when things don’t make much sense.” He paused, running a hand over his head as though searching for the right words. “Sorry. I’m not great at saying the right thing. I’m sure you’re used to smarter conversations than this.”

Leena couldn’t help but let out a small breath of relief. She knew he was alluding to Tech’s natural eloquence—the way he could articulate his thoughts with precision, always calculating the best way to express himself. Tech had always been able to explain everything, to make sense of the world when she felt lost. But there was something refreshing about Hardcase’s rawness, his willingness to admit that he didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t try to overcompensate with words, instead offering his honesty in a way that felt genuine.

Tech’s brilliance often left him detached from others emotionally, his sharp mind sometimes blinding him to the vulnerability of those around him. But Hardcase... Hardcase seemed to understand the weight of the unsaid things, the quiet moments where words weren’t necessary, only understanding. It was a stark contrast to what she was used to, but in this moment, she found herself leaning into it.

“It’s... it’s okay,” she said quietly, glancing up at him as the remnants of her tension began to ebb. His concern wasn’t forced, it wasn’t because he thought he had to say something profound—it was simply because he cared, in his own, unpolished way. And for some reason, that felt easier to accept than anything Tech could offer right now.

“I didn’t think I’d be... here, like this,” Leena continued, her voice growing softer as she spoke. “I didn’t think things would get so complicated, you know? I didn’t think I’d feel like I’m... falling apart.”

Hardcase nodded slowly, his eyes understanding, but there was no pity in them. He didn’t look at her like a broken thing to be fixed. “Yeah, life has a way of throwing everything at you all at once. Makes it harder to keep your footing. But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

The words hung in the air between them, simple but impactful. Leena swallowed, her throat tight. She wasn’t sure why she was opening up like this—after all, she barely knew him. But in some strange way, his presence felt like the only thing holding her together in this moment. Maybe it was his unspoken kindness, his ability to let her just be, without judgment or expectation.

“Thanks,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking him for the cloth, for the concern, or for not trying to fix her. Maybe it was all of it.

Hardcase smiled, his expression soft and genuine, the kind of smile that didn’t demand anything in return. “Anytime, Leena. Anytime.” His gaze shifted to the water in front of them, a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, before he turned back to her, his dark eyes meeting hers with quiet sincerity. “Can I walk you back to your place? I want to make sure you get there alright.”

Leena paused, her thoughts swirling. His offer was simple enough, but there was something in his tone that made it feel different from the usual gestures of kindness she’d grown accustomed to. It wasn’t pity, or some well-meaning obligation—it was just genuine, the kind of kindness that didn’t come with strings attached. For the first time in weeks, someone was being kind to her not because they had to, but because they wanted to. It felt... good.

For a fleeting moment, the weight of everything seemed to lift, just enough to breathe. She nodded, her throat tight as she forced a small, thankful smile. Hardcase rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his pants, and extended his hand to her. She took it, grounding herself in the steady strength of his grip. He didn’t push or try to fix anything—he simply offered his support, in the most human, uncomplicated way.

“Are you sure I’m not ruining your evening plans?” she asked after a pause, noticing in the corner of her eye that he'd changed into something a bit more polished than usual.

“I was already running behind to meet everyone at that gathering,” Hardcase replied with a shrug. “A few extra minutes won’t be a problem.”

Leena mulled over his words, feeling a flicker of relief at the thought that he, too, could be late for things. "It’s winding down, you know?" she added, almost absentmindedly.

“Yeah… got a bit distracted,” he admitted with a sheepish grin before quickly adding, “Not by you. Before I found you, I mean,” he reassured her.

“Oh?” she said, intrigued, happy for the distraction of his story and what might’ve caused him to be behind.

“Yeah, it’s kinda silly, actually,” he muttered, looking away, almost embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with a little silly,” Leena replied after a beat, watching the way his features shifted at her words. There was something in the way she said it—maybe the quiet understanding in her voice—that made him open up.

“Well, there’s this moonyo that hangs around outside Jesse’s house. And I’m telling you, that little guy is great at finding hidden things... at least, that’s what I call them,” Hardcase said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke. Leena noticed the way his voice had gotten a bit louder, likely due to his partial deafness—or maybe he’d always been a bit boisterous.

“Hidden things?” she asked softly, genuinely curious.

“Yeah. Hidden things. One time, I followed him to this alcove in the caves, and it was packed with all kinds of stolen stuff from around the island—clothes, little trinkets, all sorts of shiny objects. That moonyo’s a troublemaker,” he grinned, before his expression shifted to something more wistful. “Another time, he led me to this quiet spot by the water, a place no one really knows about. Anytime he’s hanging around, but then suddenly bolts off like he's on a mission... I just follow him.”

Leena chuckled, a gentle smile curling her lips. “You probably think it’s ridiculous. Following an ape around for no reason…”

“No, not at all,” she interrupted, meeting his eyes. “I think it’s sweet and…” She paused, searching for the right word, then added, “spontaneous.”

Hardcase’s eyes softened, the warmth of her approval settling over him. With a little nod, he continued, telling her more about the secret treasures his four-legged companion had led him to discover. 

As they walked side by side, the cobblestones beneath their feet rhythmically clicking with each step, Leena allowed herself to relax just a little. Hardcase’s words came in a steady stream—nothing heavy, just casual musings about random things: the weather, a funny incident from earlier that day, a strange looking cloud in the sky. His voice was calm and unassuming, filling the silence in a way that wasn’t overwhelming or uncomfortable. It wasn’t the kind of conversation she had with Tech—where every word had its weight and meaning—but it was nice. Simple, comforting.

Leena let herself get lost in the sound of his voice, her focus shifting away from the sharp edge of her pain for a moment. It wasn’t that the hurt was gone, but for the first time in days, she didn’t feel like it was choking her. She wasn’t fighting it. She wasn’t fighting anything. There was no expectation, no pressure—just the quiet comfort of someone walking with her, offering their company without expecting anything in return.

As they neared the house she’d been staying in since the split, Leena felt a pang in her chest, a mix of relief and sadness. This place had become her refuge and her prison all at once. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stay there, or what would come next, but in this moment, with Hardcase walking beside her, she allowed herself to hope for just a bit of peace.

When they reached the doorstep, Hardcase gave her a final, casual nod. “Here you are. Safe and sound.”

She smiled, though it was a bittersweet one. “Thanks, Hardcase. Really. For everything.”

He shrugged, his smile light. “Like I said, anytime.”

Leena watched him turn to walk away, his figure growing smaller with each step. She stood in the doorway for a moment longer than she intended, feeling a mix of emotions well up in her chest—grief, gratitude, confusion—but most of all, a sense of being... understood. Not fixed. Not judged. Just understood.

Art by the lovely @leenathegreengirl!

Day 5 - Rex & Mae

I can't say I've ever met a man more in denial about his feelings than Captain Rex. However, his unwavering devotion to Echo—and his determination to help his friend find happiness—has created the perfect opportunity for him to grow even closer to our favorite doctor. Perhaps, in time, these two will move past their own hesitations and finally embrace what seems so obvious to all of us: the connection that's been waiting to take shape all along.

With a touch of nostalgia and a wonderfully sweet gesture, these two are undoubtedly on the path to growing even closer this Life Day season!

(Ao3 link HERE if you prefer that formatting!)

Event Masterlist

(💚💕EXTRA special thank you my very dear friend and creative partner @legacygirlingreen for making this event possible and for allowing her OC Mae to be a part of this AU! She is, as always, the beautiful mind behind ALL the writing, design layout, post editing and song selections!💕💚)

💚Tag List💚

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @justanotherdikutsimp @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream

Many have written about how Karlach throws Astarion, well… Don't worry, no Astarions were harmed! But I can't say the same about Gortash…