Shade didn't stop staring at Blaze.
It was… like her brain had forgotten how to look away.
Blaze stood there against the fence with her lips slightly parted, breathing hard, eyes bright like she'd just won something.
Shade hated her.
Shade hated the way Blaze looked like she belonged in Shade's mouth.Shade hated the way her own body kept leaning forward like it was trying to make that decision again.
Blaze's hand stayed at Shade's waist like an anchor.
Like Blaze assumed Shade would come back.
Shade swallowed.
Her heart was beating too loud.
This was exposure.
Blaze's thumb moved slightly—barely a touch—and Shade's entire nervous system lit up.
Blaze's mouth twitched.
"Cute," Blaze murmured.
Shade snapped.
"Don't," Shade hissed.
Blaze only smiled wider, like she enjoyed being warned.
"Why?" Blaze asked, voice low. "Does it make you feel things?"
Shade's eyes sharpened. "I feel rage."
Blaze hummed. "Sure."
That word again.
Shade's hands clenched.
She leaned in like she might kiss Blaze again.
Like she might bite her.
Then she stopped.
Hard.
Like she'd hit a wall inside her own body.
Shade's expression went blank—too fast, too perfect.
Blaze noticed.Of course she did.
Blaze's smile faded into something quieter.
"Hey," Blaze said, softer.
Shade stepped back.
She ripped her hands away like the warmth was dangerous.
"I hate you," Shade said with venom.
Blaze blinked once. "Yeah?"
Shade's jaw trembled almost imperceptibly.
Then Shade turned on her heel and walked out of the gym like it hadn't just happened.
Like her lips weren't still burning.
Like her whole world hadn't shifted on a single kiss.
The days after were worse.
Not because Blaze chased her.
Because Blaze didn't.
Blaze waited.
Shade went to rehearsal.She answered the group chat.
Echo: BRO YOU DISAPPEAREDEcho: DID YOU COMMIT MURDEREcho: blink twice if yes
Shade replied, cold and controlled:
Shade: I'm fine.
Nova called once.
Shade answered with the calm of someone holding a blade behind her back.
"Yes," Shade said. "No. I'm not sick. I'll be there."
She kept showing up.
She kept functioning.
She kept her mask intact.
And she did not—under any circumstances—meet Blaze's eyes.
Not once.
Not in the lounge.
Not in the rehearsal room.
Not when Blaze's voice slid under hers in harmony like a hand returning to her waist.
Shade stared at her own lyrics sheet as if the paper was the only safe thing left in the room.
Blaze didn't stop calling her cute.
Blaze did it casually. Cruelly.
Like she knew Shade couldn't stab her in public.
"Cute," Blaze would murmur when Shade glared.
"Cute," Blaze would say when Shade pretended not to hear her.
"Cute," Blaze would breathe when Shade walked past too fast.
Shade didn't respond.
But inside, she kept writing poetic threats.
The kind that sounded like curses.
After another week Blaze finally spoke to her like they were alone—because they were.
The rehearsal room had emptied.
Nova was gone.
Echo had left quickly after Nova, still acting slightly… off. Distracted. Shadowing.
Shade stayed behind to "organize."
Which was a lie.
Shade stayed behind because she didn't know what to do with herself.
Blaze closed the door behind her.
Soft click.
Shade's spine stiffened.
She kept staring at her phone like it mattered.
Blaze spoke calmly.
"You can't ignore me forever."
Shade didn't look up. "Watch me."
Blaze walked closer.
Shade's heart betrayed her immediately.
"You kissed me," Blaze said. Not teasing this time. Just factual.
Shade's throat tightened.
"That was a mistake," Shade said.
Blaze hummed. "Then why are you shaking?"
Shade's fingers curled around her phone so tightly her knuckles paled.
"I'm not."
Blaze stopped in front of her, blocking the light.
Shade's breath hitched.
Blaze's voice went lower.
"Do you want me to stop?" Blaze asked.
Shade's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Because the truth was unbearable.
Shade didn't want Blaze to stop.
Shade wanted Blaze to get out of her skin.
Both were impossible.
Blaze waited.
Patient.
Steady.
Then Shade finally snapped—not at Blaze.
At herself.
Shade stood up so fast the chair scraped.
"Come over," Shade said suddenly.
Blaze blinked.
Shade's eyes were wild.
Not angry.
Something worse.
"Tonight," Shade added, like a command. Like a demand. "My apartment."
Blaze didn't smile.
Blaze didn't tease.
She just watched Shade for a long second like she was reading the crack in the mask.
Then Blaze nodded once.
"Okay," Blaze said. "Tonight."
Shade turned away immediately, as if eye contact might kill her.
That night, Shade didn't tidy.
Her apartment already looked perfect because she had built it to be perfectly safe.
When Blaze arrived, Shade opened the door like she was letting in a threat.
Blaze stepped inside, quiet.
No smug smile.
Just presence.
Blaze took in the dim lights, the faint background track, the soft calm of Shade's space.
Shade didn't explain anything.
She didn't want to.
She just grabbed Blaze by the front of her shirt and pulled her in.
Their mouths crashed again—no warning, no buildup, no permission needed because they'd already crossed that line.
Blaze's arms wrapped around Shade instantly, firm and warm, like she'd been waiting.
Shade kissed like she was starving.
Like she was furious.
Like she was trying to erase the last few days by force.
Blaze kissed back like she wasn't going anywhere.
They stumbled backward.
Shade dragged Blaze through the hallway like a mission.
Bedroom.
Sanctuary.
She didn't care that Blaze was seeing it.
Let her see.
Let her know.
Let her understand that this was the one place Shade didn't pretend.
Shade pushed Blaze onto the bed and climbed over her like she was claiming ground.
Blaze's hands slid up Shade's back, steadying her.
"Shade," Blaze whispered, voice rough.
Shade kissed her again.
Blaze's fingers moved higher—careful, reverent.
And then something inside Shade snapped in the other direction.
Memory.
A flash.
A sensation.
Too much.
Shade froze.
Her whole body locked like it had been commanded.
Her breath vanished.
Her eyes went empty for half a second—like she'd left herself.
Blaze stopped instantly, no hesitation.
Blaze sat up and pulled Shade against her chest like Shade weighed nothing, grounding her, breathing slow on purpose.
"It's okay," Blaze murmured, voice low. "It's okay."
Shade's hands gripped Blaze's shirt like she was drowning.
Blaze's palm pressed gently against the back of Shade's head.
Not forcing.
Just there.
A steady point.
"You're safe," Blaze whispered.
Shade's throat burned.
No.
No, no, no—
Shade didn't cry.
Shade didn't do that.
Shade had stopped doing that years ago.
Shade stayed cold.
Shade stayed sharp.
Shade survived.
Blaze held her tighter, patient as the earth.
And then—
a tear slipped out anyway.
Shade didn't even understand it at first.
She blinked, angry at her own face.
Then another.
And another.
Silent.
Violent in the way it made her feel exposed.
Blaze didn't look away.
Blaze only held her like she was something worth protecting.
Shade's voice broke into a whisper.
"…I hate this," Shade confessed.
Blaze's hand stroked her hair slowly.
"I know," Blaze murmured.
Shade's breath shook.
"…I hate that you saw."
Blaze kissed her temple—soft.
"Good," Blaze said quietly.
Shade stiffened, confused.
Blaze's voice stayed calm.
"Good," Blaze repeated. "Because I'm not leaving."
Shade's eyes squeezed shut.
Her body trembled with something she didn't have a name for.
..Relief.
Blaze held her through it like it wasn't sacred.
Like Shade wasn't bleeding for the first time in years.
And Shade realized—terrified:
This was Blaze touching the one place in Shade that still hurt…
and not running away.
Shade cried in Blaze's arms — and didn't die from it.