Chapter Text
It was late. Past midnight, closer to dawn.
The lab beneath the main building felt more like a sealed capsule than a workspace. Sterile and sunless. Not a single window in sight. Down there, time felt like it had stopped ticking. The lighting was minimal. The fluorescent lights, buzzing faintly, gave off a cold pale glow. A desk lamp casted a soft yellow light across the metal surface. The rest of the room stayed in shadow.
Aside from constant buzzing, the sounds were hushed: the low hum of the refrigeration unit, the hiss of ventilation through a ceiling grate, and every now and then, one of the monitors would give a soft beep. Not enough to distract, but enough to make the silence feel deeper.
The monitor still showed the message “Processing” on a blue screen. One hour and a half past the expected result time. And still, nothing.
On the far counter, a sample tray sat neatly labeled beside a stack of sealed documents and unused gloves. A set of car keys rested beside them, tossed down without much care. Beside the monitor, a paper cup of coffee had long gone cold. The longer the silence held, the louder it seemed to become.
There were only two people in the room.
The unit's driver, Luchino Diruse, was sitting at the desk in a relaxed pose, with one leg crossed. His black mask lay forgotten on the table beside him. The pen between his fingers tapped now and then, more like a placeholder than a habit. Bored, his gaze moved occasionally, never quite settling.
Across from him, someone was standing near the cabinet, arms crossed. The Surveyor’s coat, long, dark, and patterned with fine gold trim flowed faintly as he leaned into the wall. Without the visor, his face was still partially shadowed by the raised collar.
It wasn’t closeness, but it was never indifference. They had developed a rhythm, one they wouldn't acknowledge, but neither of them ever broke. Whatever it was, it has become a pattern. Predictable, almost strategic.
What made it different was how long it stretched this time. They weren’t looking at each other. At least, not directly.
Luchino finally cut into the silence.
“Still nothing.”
“Delays feel longer when there’s nothing else to do.” Surveyor’s gaze lifted, barely, then settled again. “You tap that pen like it’s going to hurry the results.”
“You notice everything, don’t you?” Luchino replied without looking up.
At that, Surveyor huffed. Not worth answering.
One of the sample tubes moved on the tray, causing a faint click that broke the quiet. The sound echoed louder than it should have, but neither of them reacted.
Luchino tapped the pen once more, then let it still between his fingers. “Could be contamination.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Wouldn’t be the first time a delay came from someone rushing the sample collection.”
Surveyor made a quiet hum. “It happened last time. They panicked and touched the wrong surface. Whole set had to be pulled.”
"Right.” Luchino gave a small nod, like that confirmed something he was already suspecting. “Procedure breaks when people stop thinking. Panic gets in through the seams.”
"It slips in small ways,” he added. “Most don’t realize until it’s too late.”
Luchino didn’t rush to answer. His eyes stayed forward, but his attention had gone somewhere else.
“Same thing happens in interviews,” he said thoughtfully. “People try to act like pressure doesn’t get to them. But it always does. Eventually.”
Surveyor crossed his arms slightly more. “Sometimes they hold it. Long enough to fool you."
“But that’s the trick, isn’t it?” Luchino shifted his weight in the chair. “Knowing who’s still holding it and who’s about to break."
Eli didn’t turn, but his reply was sharp. “Plenty make sure you never get close enough to find out.”
"That doesn’t mean the cracks aren’t there," the man replied. "You just have to know where to press. Answers shift. Patterns don’t hold.”
He let the silence stretch a beat.
“Some people get more honest under pressure.” He turned to his company. “Others just… fracture.”
Surveyor shook his head slightly, then exhaled. “Doesn’t matter how they break. Just what they give away when they do.”
He made subtle adjustment on his position. It wasn't quite in discomfort, but Luchino couldn't tell exactly what it was. He just watched him briefly, with interest.
The monitor screen blinked again.
Still processing.
Luchino adjusted himself, voice calm. “But which tells you more? Isn't it what they avoid saying, what they will hide until the end?”
Eli’s expression barely changed, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “Sure. Everyone hides something. The ones worth listening to know when to stay quiet.” The tone was controlled but not completely detached. “Silence is a form on endurance.”
Luchino took a few seconds before responding. Analyzing.
"Silence." His eyes flicked briefly toward Eli, then down, not at anything in particular. "There's a especial kind of silence in people under pressure. Makes me wonder whether it’s protection… or a challenge.”
Eli's arms stayed crossed, but his fingers curled slightly tighter against the fabric of his sleeve. “You keep talking like pressure is something outside the person. It's not."
He didn't add anything else. Instead, he sighed. He rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head to one side, stretching the tension from his neck with a slow unconscious move.
The angle caught Luchino off guard.
The high collar of his coat shifted just slightly as he tilted his head, revealing the pale line of his throat, exposed in a way that felt uncalculated. A quiet pause of someone who rarely let down his guard, and had forgotten, for just a moment, to keep it raised.
Luchino’s eyes followed the motion before he even realized. He turned away only when it felt too late to pretend he hadn’t. But the air had already changed. He adjusted his posture, keeping his eyes forward, away from the man across the room, as if mentally reviewing something.
Without looking at him directly, and with a tone a little too calm to be casual, he asked. “Do you think people are more honest when they’re tired?” As he spoke, he uncrossed his legs and leaned forward a fraction. A signal.
Surveyor could still feel a little tension on his shoulders. His arms stayed crossed, but his tone changed slightly.
“They’re less careful.” His voice was low, but just as precise. “Not the same thing.”
Luchino exhaled gently through his nose. “Less careful,” he repeated, with the smallest curl of a smile. “Sounds promising.”
Before either of them could say anything else, the monitor gave a beep. A new screen appeared on it, lit up in pale blue. The results were in.
Luchino’s eyes flickered toward the screen. Just once. Surveyor didn’t look at it at all.
They could have left. They should have. But neither of them moved.
Surveyor was the first to speak again.
“That’s the result," his voice flat, simply pointing, "but I doubt that’s the conclusion.”
The line landed like a challenge. Though neither had moved, the space between them felt narrower than it had a minute ago. Completely ignored, the screen cast its blue light across both their faces.
“Hm.” Luchino turned back to him fully now, his attention sharpening. “You know… you’re good at pretending not to watch.”
Oddly entertained, Surveyor tilted his head. “I don’t pretend. You just don’t stop giving me things to notice.”
“That’s fair,” he nodded. “I also prefer observation before engagement.”
“I know." Surveyor's voice was softer this time, but still restrained. "You’ve been observing for a long time.”
“Mm. And I think I’ve seen enough.”
Luchino leaned forward just slightly, not enough to challenge, just enough to signal that he was done holding back.
“You’ve got a gift for staying unreadable, Clark. But it’s not indifference. That’s discipline.”
He made an intentional pause, his eyes looking for any reaction.
“Could it be that there is something satisfying about restraint… when it’s deliberate?”
This time, Surveyor glared at him. It wasn’t a conversation anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. It was a test. And they both knew it.
“You ask a lot of questions,” he said, calm but firm. ”Where does interest end... and intrusion begin?”
Luchino’s eyes didn’t leave him, studying his face. “I only ask when I want to know what you won’t say otherwise.”
Surveyor's mouth tightened.
“You think you’ve got me figured out?” his tone quieter and sharper.
A smile formed in Luchino’s mouth. “Not at all. That’s what makes this so... interesting.”
The driver remained in the same relaxed posture, but something had changed. He was focused, no longer trying to pass as casual. And beneath the confident calm, something else. Curosity, excitement were already starting to show through the cracks.
“I just wonder… if this is you asking to be found out," he dropped his voice, “or if you’re waiting to see what happens when I stop observing.”
The words struck. Surveyor looked up, certain. His jaw tensed. Distant and irrelevant, the low hum of the machines faded into the background.
The man stepped forward, slow and almost soundless. His coat brushed softly behind him as he moved.
“You keep testing my reactions,” he said as he closed the distance, voice quiet and measured. “Like you were studying me.”
He placed a hand on the table, deliberately close. Close enough to shift the air between them. The metal beneath his palm was freezing cool to the touch, but he didn't react.
“But I think…” he continued, softer now, eyes fixed on Luchino, “you enjoy being studied as much as you enjoy studying.”
Luchino didn’t look up. His gaze stayed focused on the monitor screen, but his shoulders had gone still. “You like standing above me, don’t you?” he said with a neutral voice. No longer teasing, not even defensive. Just observant.
Gloved fingers curled slightly against the metal.
“I’d like to know what you’ll do when someone finally stops keeping their distance.”
The air surrounding them was unbearably dense.
Still, Luchino remained motionless. But his eyes dropped to Surveyor’s arm. Firm, just centimeters from his own. Then, slowly, he lifted his head. Whatever sharp remark that could have been formed died the moment their eyes locked.
The blue light from the monitor cast across the Surveyor’s face. His breath had changed, shallower now. He didn’t speak, didn't say anything else. In a quiet step closing the space between them, Surveyor leaned in, his hand sliding across the table until his fingertips brushed the sleeve of Luchino's jacket.
Letting the instinct win, Luchino rose slowly, shoulders still with a tension he no longer bothered to disguise.
The space between them narrowed until there was barely a breath between them. They were closer, closer than they had ever allowed themselves. Luchino could feel the heat of his breath now.
Surveyor crossed the line between watching and acting, and kissed him. Slow at first, }memorizing the shape of something he studied from the distance for far too long, then soon deepened.
He kissed Luchino like he was making up for every moment he’d denied himself this. Like he’d always known it was coming and only now allowed himself to admit it. Like he has been waiting for this exact moment to lose his balance.
Luchino responded without hesitation, as if he'd been waiting for someone to answer an invitation he hadn't known he was making. Months of disguised want collapsing at once. Interest. Curiosity. Frustration. Desire. All restrained too long.
One hand came to cup the back of Surveyor's neck, fingers threading into the brown hair, brushing the hood. Surveyor's moved from the table to Luchino’s chest, grounding them both and the moment, as the kiss deepened. It was everything they hadn’t said. Every glance held too long. Every silence filled with meaning. Every question never asked. Every almost confession behind every remark.
When they finally pulled apart, neither moved far. Foreheads rested together, their ragged breathings mingled. The quiet returned, but it wasn’t the same. It was full, settled and answered.
The monitor kept blinking behind them. But neither of them looked back.