Orien’s cheeks are shadowed with exhaustion, stubble catching the harsh blue glow of his monitor. His shirt—once crisp—clings to his chest, sleeves rolled to the elbow, pale scars and veins exposed. He rubs his tired eyes, hands trembling as rapid lines of code fill the screen. Across the glass table, Selene glances up through tangled black hair, her eyeliner smudged by sweat, lips chewed raw beneath her sharp retorts. She’s wearing an old hoodie, wrists emerging from frayed cuffs, and when the silence sharpens, her foot bounces nervously under the table.

“You missed a bracket,” she says, voice low, but softer than her usual bite. Orien’s head jerks up, a hesitant smile flickering—the kind that aches at the corners. Their eyes meet; for a moment, the tension in the cramped server room turns intimate. Blinking hard, Selene bends over her laptop, pretending to ignore the heat crawling up her neck.

A storm pounds at the window. Orien leans closer, scent of cologne mingling with midnight panic. “This is impossible,” he mutters, frustration breaking through his controlled façade. Selene hesitates, fingers hovering above the keys, then lets her vulnerability slip out: “Do you ever—” Her voice catches. “—wonder if you’re just one mistake away from losing everything?”

Orien looks at her—truly looks, for the first time tonight. Rain spatters harder. He sees her jaw tense, sees her shoulders curl protectively in on themselves. He reaches out, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the charge behind the gesture. “Every day,” he says. “Especially when it feels like no one sees you for who you are.”

For a moment, the walls drop. Selene’s breath leaves her in a shudder. She laughs, broken and soft. “You’re not what I thought.” Orien, heart pounding, finally lets his hand rest atop hers—warm, steady. She grips back, desperate.

Their code finally compiles. Relief sags their bodies together as the server hums back to life. Orien looks at Selene, eyes wild with adrenaline and something deeper—hunger, hope, maybe both. She meets him in the half-dark, lips trembling. “Don’t make me regret this,” she whispers, but when Orien pulls her in, she opens to him—hungry, grateful, letting go.

He cradles her face, his thumb gentle as her hair tumbles between his fingers. Their mouths crash, urgent, needy. Selene claws at his shirt, dragging him down, every barrier between them erased by the fluorescent hum and the scarlet glow of the warning lights. Her hoodie slips from her shoulders. He kisses a line up her throat, hands greedy and reverent. “You’re safe,” he breathes.

She lets out a sound—half-laugh, half-sob—as they sink to the floor, tangled in cables and each other. For the first time, Selene trusts; for the first time, Orien is seen. Their bodies move in frantic, grateful rhythm—harsh breaths, whispered names, every hurt dissolving under sweat and skin. His hands are everywhere—mapping her scars, soothing her shivers. Her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, desperate to believe in tenderness.

When it’s over, they lie tangled, heartbeat syncing. Selene draws patterns on his chest, eyes wet but soft, letting herself smile. “So this is what it feels like,” she murmurs, voice breaking. Orien presses his lips to her forehead, and, for a brief, blazing moment, everything broken is whole.

A ping shatters the peace. Orien scrambles upright, heart thudding. Selene sits bolt straight, wrapping the hoodie around her bare skin. An email notification glows on the monitor, subject line screaming: Whistleblower Notice—URGENT: CEO MISCONDUCT EVIDENCE ATTACHED.

Selene’s face goes blank in horror as Orien’s jaw tightens, all the hope in his eyes collapsing into disbelief.

Outside, the storm finally breaks.

To be continued...