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Tinya looked out the window longingly in her fall jumper with a mug of tea, her chin resting on her hand. The clouds were sluggishly moving across the sunny afternoon sky. The light from the window was warm, but the air outside was crisp and brisk. The silence was loud in her ears.

She heaved a sigh.

Leaves were fluttering about on the shaky branches, flitting through the breeze and drawing imaginary trails as she stared on with half-lidded eyes as her mind drifted into the oblivion of boredom. The tea was growing cold.

And so was she, despite the sun’s rays. A deep cold was entrenching itself in her chest, numbing its edges. A quiet anxiety lay within its depths. A pit of nostalgia and ache.

She shuddered a sigh.

Tinya looked out the window longingly, wrapped in her cozy fall jumper, cradling a mug of tea close to her chest. Her chin rested on her hand, and her gaze was fixed on the colourful leaves outside. The clouds lazily drifted across the sunny afternoon sky, casting dappled shadows on her face. The soft, golden light from the window warmed the room, but the brisk autumn air outside sent a shiver down her spine.

She heaved a wistful sigh, her thoughts drifting back to the outings she used to have with her family during the fall season. Those long walks with her father and mother, the crisp air, the rustling leaves, and the sweet scent of fallen foliage all played a part in those cherished memories. Gathering leaves, picking apples, and enjoying picnics amid the vibrant fall foliage were just some of the wonderful moments etched in her mind.

Leaves continued to flutter outside, their colours dancing in the breeze, but Tinya's gaze remained distant. The tea in her mug was growing cold, mirroring the chill that seemed to be settling in her heart. There was a quiet anxiety within her—a pit of nostalgia and longing that seemed to grow deeper with each passing year.

A familiar voice broke through her reverie. "Hey, Tinya."

Startled, she turned to see Timberwolf standing there, his presence a comforting surprise. He had quietly entered the room, sensing her mood, and now his eyes held a mixture of warmth and concern.

"Oh, Brin... I didn't hear you come in," she admitted, offering a small smile.

He smiled back, his gaze unwavering. "You seemed a bit distant today." Is everything okay? hung silently in the air.

Tinya hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly. "I guess... I'm just lost in thought. Fall always makes me nostalgic. It reminds me of all those wonderful outings we used to have as a family. Outings I've not had since I was eight." She stated the last part curtly: understandably, Tinya's mother had no time for such petty activities once she became president, and Tinya knew it would be unfair to blame her for her lack of childhood.

But Tinya had wanted a mother, not a politician, when she was nine and was told there would be no apple picking and no hikes through the park.

Brin nodded in understanding, his eyes filled with empathy. "I can relate. Fall has a way of tugging at our memories. I used to spend the season outdoors with my mother, V'layla. She and I would explore the forest; we would forage for berries for Da-" he cut himself quickly, wringing his hands together. "For my father to make into warm cider. and it was always so magical."

Tinya listened, touched by his willingness to share his own memories. "Those sound like beautiful moments, Brin," she said, putting a hand on his.

His smile faded slightly as he continued, "But things change, and those beautiful moments become distant memories."

She acknowledged his words with a nod, recognizing the sadness in his tone; the pain his words hid. Pain she had had a hand in ending, she hoped, when she helped him bring his father to justice. Pain, she dared hope, that she could share the burden of...

Their hands remained intertwined, and as they looked into each other's eyes, they found solace in the bittersweet beauty of fall and the silent understanding that their connection ran deeper than just friendship. It was a moment that held the promise of something more, something that neither of them was quite ready to define just yet.

A palpable tension hung in the air. They both felt the pull of their emotions—the desire to bridge the gap between friendship and something more. Yet fear and uncertainty gripped them, causing a sudden, almost involuntary separation.

Tinya withdrew her hand, her gaze dropping to the floor as she bit her lower lip. She wanted to say something to address the unspoken question hanging in the air, but her words felt trapped in her throat. She desperately wished for Brin to have the courage she did not have and for him to say something. Anything. However, seconds seemed to stretch into infinity as she stared at the cup of tea in her lap, long gone tepid.

Silence.

Brin looked at her, at the woman who had mistreated him and learned from her mistakes; the woman who had become his first true friend here at the legion; the woman he had shared a kiss with. They had gone through so much together and grown so much from one another, through missions or hours spent talking, long into the night and past their curfew. Something so precious, he thought, is worth protecting.

He'd bottle up their friendship if he could, if only to store it away for safekeeping. Like a fine, expensive brandy, only to be enjoyed on great or terrible occasions; to delight in, or to take comfort away from the hardships of the world. It was a terrible price to pay for the vulnerability that their emotional proximity brought; he felt like an alcoholic, always on the cusp of relapse.

And Tinya was his alcohol.

Despite his sharp senses and just as sharp mind, Brin could not understand the attraction Tinya felt for him. Part of him still believed she battled those prejudices about mutants, and a bigger part of him still believed he was unlovable. After all, his father had turned him into a war machine; these hands he fought so hard to be used for protection were meant to destroy. How could she love him?

How can I love her? How could he properly love her; treat her the way she deserved to be treated? How could he be sure he would't-

"Brin," Tinya said, cutting off his train of thought and jerking him back to the present. He'd gotten ahead of himself, thinking about all the bad things he could do. He didn't even know if she would want him that way yet.

Not that he planned on asking.

He waited for her to continue.

She didn't speak. But she turned to face him. Her silver eyes bore into his golden ones; a shadow, unspoken fears and doubts crossed a wordless boundary and seemed to grasp his heart tightly. Not his worry, but hers. As if she willed her heart into his chest, he felt with every beat the anxiety she felt—the same one that tainted his every thought surrounding her.

The same fear of ruining something so tender, so special.

Finally, she turned back to the window. After a beat, she leaned into his solid frame, seeking comfort and warmth—the shelter he would always offer her, his phantom carnation. He felt a cold cup be thrust into his hands, and he accepted the room-temperature tea, accepting her burdens as she accepted his.