#mutual+understanding

You didn’t speak much. You rarely did. But that was one of the reasons Ivan liked you.

While others tried to reach past his cold exterior with forced warmth or words that wrapped around nothing, you sat with him in silence, eyes occasionally searching the sky like you were reading a language only you could understand.

“I had a weird dream,” Ivan murmured, glancing sideways, his black eyes glinting with the dying light. “You were gone. Just—gone. And I couldn’t find you, no matter where I looked.”

You turned to him slowly, your lips parting just slightly in surprise. He smiled, faint and fleeting, one fang just visible.

“Scared me more than anything I’ve faced in that stupid stage.”

You didn’t know how to respond in words, so you took his hand into yours, holding it tight. Ivan stilled, then let out a small laugh—a rare, quiet thing that only you ever got to hear.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t leave,” he said, his fingers curling around yours. “You don’t need to say it.”

You nodded, resting your head on his shoulder.

Despite the quiet, your presence anchored him. When the world felt fake—plastic smiles and glittering lies—your silence was real. Gentle. Reassuring.

In a world where he always felt too intense, too cold, too obsessive—you let him be soft.

And in turn, he loved you with a quiet devotion he showed no one else.

Till stood in the middle of his room, surrounded by crumpled sketches and fragmented thoughts. The night was quiet except for the rustling of paper and the occasional soft hum from a broken fan. You sat on the edge of the bed, knees pulled close to your chest, watching him with concerned eyes.

He hadn’t spoken in a while.

Then he finally turned to you, eyes rimmed with red, the teal dulled by doubt. “I messed up again,” he said. “They all saw it. I cracked. I…I wasn’t supposed to lose control.”

You got up slowly, stepping over discarded papers with careful feet, and reached out. Your hand brushed his wrist gently. He flinched at first—then relaxed.

You rarely spoke. That’s what calmed him most.

You didn’t ask him to explain or push him to open up. You simply stood there, your quiet presence wrapping around him like a soft blanket.

“I keep thinking,” he whispered, “you’ll get tired of me. That one day, you’ll wake up and realize I’m too much. Too broken.”

Your thumb brushed his hand, and you shook your head gently.

Till looked at you, almost breathless. “Even now…you still like me? Even like this?”

Your gaze didn’t waver. Slowly, you leaned up and pressed your forehead to his, the gesture tender, grounding.

He melted. Soft tears welled in his eyes, and he let himself fall into you—arms curling around your waist, holding tight like you were the only real thing in his world.

“You’re so quiet,” he murmured, a shaky laugh escaping him. “And yet somehow, you’re the loudest voice in my head. Telling me I’m still worth it.”

You didn’t say a word.

You didn’t need to.

Because for Till, your presence was louder than any declaration, stronger than any lyric.

And in that small, silent moment—he believed he could be loved.

You had always had… something, though you had never been foolish enough to call it a gift or brave enough to give it a proper name, because it wasn’t something you could explain without sounding unhinged; it was simply that, every now and then, if you looked a second too long into empty corners or darkened reflections, something would look back—faint flickers, movements that didn’t belong, shadows that stretched just a little too far or lingered just a second too long, figures that dissolved the moment you focused on them directly. Over time, you learned to ignore it, to tuck it away and pretend it didn’t exist, because no one else ever saw them, and admitting that you did would only ever lead to questions you couldn’t answer.

Until her.

You were halfway through your second week of CIA training when Jodie Holmes arrived, and she didn’t introduce herself or make any effort to blend in, because she didn’t have to—everyone already knew who she was, even if no one quite understood why. You first saw her properly in the gym, where she was sparring with one of the strongest recruits in your unit, someone bigger, more experienced, someone who should have had the clear advantage, and yet the fight ended with him on the ground and her still standing, breathing hard but steady, like she had expected nothing less. It wasn’t a clean win, and it wasn’t effortless, but it was decisive, and in the brief moment where her opponent stumbled back, you saw it—something behind her that moved when it shouldn’t have, something that wasn’t her shadow but mimicked one, something that leaned forward just slightly, as if it had been part of the motion, as if it had helped.

You froze, because that wasn’t like the things you usually saw, those fleeting, inconsistent fragments at the edge of your perception; this was sharper, more defined, more intentional. But of course, you said nothing, because you had spent your entire life pretending you didn’t see things, so why would you suddenly start now?

Still, you began to watch her, quietly and carefully, telling yourself you were imagining it, that your mind was simply trying to make sense of something it didn’t understand, but the longer you observed, the harder it became to dismiss. It was always subtle, never obvious enough for anyone else to notice, but you saw it—how something shifted behind her when she was angry, how the air seemed to tighten around her when she focused, how there was always, always something just over her shoulder when she was alone, something closer than a shadow and far too consistent to be coincidence.

And then, at some point, it noticed you.

It happened late in the evening, after training had run longer than usual and most of the facility had quieted down into that dim, humming stillness that settles in after hours; Jodie was sitting on the concrete steps outside, elbows resting on her knees as she stared into nothing in particular, and you hesitated a few steps away, knowing you shouldn’t approach her, knowing you had no reason to, and yet feeling something—some quiet, persistent pull—drawing you closer anyway.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking at you, her voice flat and tired, not accusatory so much as observant, like she was simply acknowledging something obvious.

You stopped, caught, and muttered a quiet apology, but she didn’t let it go. “You’ve been doing that all week.”

Your stomach tightened, and for a moment you considered lying, because that would have been the smart thing to do, the safe thing, but instead, what came out was, “…You’re different.”

That made her look at you, her gaze sharp and guarded, something defensive flashing behind it as she straightened slightly. “Everyone says that.”

You shook your head, your pulse picking up because you were stepping into dangerous territory now, into something you had spent years avoiding. “No, I mean…” You hesitated, because this was always the point where things went wrong, where people dismissed you or distanced themselves, but you pushed through it anyway. “…You’re not alone.”

The silence that followed was immediate and heavy, and then the air changed.

It was subtle but undeniable, like the pressure in the atmosphere had shifted all at once, and the thing behind her—the shadow, if you could even call it that—moved, stepping between you and her in a way that was unmistakably protective. You saw it more clearly now, not just a trick of the light or a distortion of your vision, but something that reacted, something that chose where to be.

Jodie stood abruptly, her posture tightening as her voice sharpened. “Don’t. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You should have stepped back, should have defused the situation before it escalated, but you didn’t, because despite everything, you weren’t afraid—not in the way you probably should have been. You had seen things your entire life, things you never understood, but this… this was different, this felt aware, and for the first time, you weren’t looking at something that existed only in the margins of your perception.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly, and you weren’t even sure if you were speaking to her or to the presence that hovered just in front of her.

The shadow stilled.

Jodie stared at you then, really looked at you in a way she hadn’t before, something shifting behind her eyes as realization settled in. “…You can see him.”

It wasn’t a question, and you nodded slowly, choosing your words carefully. “Not like you do, I think. But… he’s there.”

Another pause followed, longer this time, and then she said, “…Aiden,” like the name itself carried meaning, like it explained everything she couldn’t put into words.

You accepted it without question, because somehow, it did.

The tension didn’t vanish, but it changed, softening just slightly at the edges. “You’re not scared,” she observed after a moment, her voice quieter now.

You let out a small breath, something almost like a laugh slipping through. “I’ve been seeing things my whole life,” you admitted with a faint shrug. “I guess I got used to it.”

That earned you something—not quite a smile, but close enough to count. “…Most people don’t stick around after they find out.”

You glanced briefly to her side, to the space that still felt occupied in a way you couldn’t fully explain. “I’m not most people.”

The presence shifted again, less guarded now, something almost curious in the way it lingered, and Jodie exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from her shoulders as she looked at you like she was reassessing everything she thought she knew.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she said.

You huffed softly. “Who would believe me?”

That, finally, made her smile, just a small one, but real.

You sat down beside her then, not too close but not distant either, and the silence that settled between you wasn’t empty; it was shared, steady, something that didn’t need to be filled with words. After a while, a breeze passed by—or at least, it felt like one, though the air around you remained still—and you glanced to the side just for a second, feeling something brush past you, not cold or threatening, but simply… there.

“…Hi,” you murmured under your breath.

Jodie heard it, of course she did, and after a brief pause, she said quietly, “…He likes you.”

You didn’t ask how she knew, and you didn’t question it.