Work Text:
Kevin Kaslana was fifteen when he first saw Mei.
She sat under a tree, reading a physics textbook that looked heavier than she did. Her glasses were too big for her face, the bridge of her nose reddened where they pinched too hard. Her hair was tied in a rushed, slightly uneven ponytail, and she had rice stuck to her cheek.
Kevin approached, heart thudding.
"You have rice," he mumbled, pointing.
She blinked up, wiped the wrong cheek, then went back to her book.
He sat beside her anyway.
That day, he skipped track practice.
---
She always brought two pens to school. One for her, one for whoever forgot theirs. He forgot his every day.
She never ate lunch, so Kevin started bringing extras. Bento boxes turned into silent rituals. She'd accept it without a word, eat in silence, and pass him a tissue at the end.
When it rained, she never brought an umbrella. Kevin would find her soaked under the school awning, shivering, refusing to admit it.
So he began waiting with an umbrella, standing in her silence until she finally stepped under it with him.
They never talked much. But their silences grew comfortable, like threadbare blankets that somehow still kept out the cold.
---
"Why do you follow me around?" she asked one day, not unkindly. Just curious.
Kevin scratched the back of his neck. "Because you're interesting."
She frowned. "I'm not."
"You are to me."
She didn’t respond.
But the next day, there was a sticky note on his locker.
You forgot your pen again. - Mei
---
They weren’t officially together, but everyone assumed they were. Kevin would drag her to school events; she’d protest, but never really pulled away.
She never smiled in pictures. He smiled enough for both of them.
Sometimes, she would fall asleep at the lab desk. Kevin would carry her to the infirmary and sit beside her all night.
He once left a flower on her desk. She stared at it for a full minute, touched its petals, and then kept it between the pages of her favorite notebook. She never mentioned it.
---
Years passed. Their connection deepened—not in exact words, but in presence. Mei still never said much, but Kevin could feel the way her gaze lingered longer, how she’d sigh when he walked away.
There were nights when Kevin sat on the edge of her lab bench while she worked. He’d hum old songs under his breath, just to see the twitch of her lips when she pretended not to hear.
Once, after a late-night research breakthrough, she looked up and said, "You should sleep."
"I will. With you."
She froze. Then, to his surprise, she nodded.
They never shared a bed often, but the rare nights they did—he’d wrap the blanket around them both and pretend he didn’t notice how she’d sneak her hand onto his chest.
She wore gloves, always. But once, just once, she slipped them off.
Her fingers brushed against his jaw. Her lips touched his, fleeting and fragile.
And then she pulled away, eyes unreadable.
"Just once," she whispered. "Before it becomes impossible."
---
When he volunteered for the first trials, she didn't stop him.
"It’s dangerous," she said.
"So is letting others go in my place."
She looked down.
"Then come back."
That was the closest she ever came to asking him to stay.
---
The first time they tried to hold hands after the enhancement, frostbitten burns seared across her palm.
Kevin recoiled. "I—I didn't mean to."
She stared at the red mark. "I know."
She never tried to touch him again.
Neither did he.
But he still brought her lunch. Still waited outside her lab at 2 a.m. Still stood beside her with arms by his side, aching to hold her.
She wore thick gloves. Said it was because of lab safety.
They both pretended.
---
Once, during a blackout, the lab plunged into darkness.
Kevin was sitting across from her. The emergency lights cast shadows across her face.
He heard her sigh, then felt something.
Her gloved hand, reaching for his.
Their fingers laced together, awkwardly. She didn’t speak. Didn’t look at him.
But her grip was firm.
He held on like he was drowning.
When the lights returned, she let go first.
"Back to work," she murmured.
But her gloves stayed off for the rest of the night.
---
He left again. Another deployment. Another cryo-stasis.
"I'll come back," he told her.
"I know," she said, turning back to her computer. "You always do."
---
He returned to an empty lab.
They said Raiden Mei had died from radiation sickness. That she never told anyone until it was too late.
That she left something behind.
A child.
Wrapped in thermal cloth. Sleeping.
White hair. Violet eyes.
And beside him, a letter.
---
Kevin,
I used to think we had time.
Time to be less awkward. Time to be brave. Time to finally look you in the eyes and say what you deserved to hear.
But the truth is, I was scared. Terrified that if you got close enough, you’d see how boring, how cold, how ordinary I was.
You always burned so bright. I thought if you ever reached me, if the chase ended, you'd grow tired.
So I ran. And you chased. And I convinced myself that was enough.
But then your body turned to ice. And I realized what I'd lost. Every touch we never shared, every moment I pretended I didn’t care... they haunt me.
You thought you were the one obsessed.
But Kevin, I made our child in a lab, just so I could be tied to you forever.
I wanted something beautiful to come from us. Even if we could never share warmth, maybe something born of both of us could.
This child is half me, half you. A proof for eternity that we once were.
Kevin, he's my heartbeat when mine stops. So, cherish him and keep going on.
I love you. I always have loved you.
I was just too much of a coward to let you know, in fear, that you’d stop loving me back. That you'd be bored once the chase is over.
But even in death, even in apocalypse, my love for you will remain.
Forever,
Mei
---
Kevin held his son close, careful, even as frost curled off his skin. The child was warm, just like Mei wanted.
He looked up at the sterile white of the lab ceiling, the place where she worked, lived, and died.
"I'll protect him, Mei."
His voice cracked as he closed his eyes.
He always found being cold, to be the worst kind of pain.
Mei had always loved him. Enough to hurt in silence. Enough to stay cold.
Enough to create a warm life from the longing of two cold people.