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‘౨ৎ When you’re blue, i’m red, i wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over ౨ৎ’
Viper does not do chatter. She runs on a tight schedule—spending most of her days in the lab and her nights filling paperwork. But that’s an excuse, because Viper does have time—she merely does not feel the need to socialise.
Her world is quiet. Structured. Organised. She does not do messy, she does not do loud. She stays in her own bubble, in the solitary comfort of her lab, surrounded by what she knows best; chemicals, equations and mugs of carefully siphoned Kopi Luwak.
Most of all, Viper’s world is blue.
The colour blue is calm; its presence is strong without the need to be vibrant. It blends in—not because it has to, but because there is no need to stand out. Blue embodies control, intelligence and authority.
Viper is blue. She need not be loud to be acknowledged. She shapes the battlefield, her lab, her world—everything. She does not act rash; she plans her moves with nothing short of precision.
But the inevitable happens. Worlds collide. Things change; even if Viper does not like change, because change is out of her control.
Reyna joins the protocol months after Viper does. She comes in loud and intense, small-talk right on the tip of her tongue. She is the direct opposite of Viper.
The duelist’s world is unpredictable. Unstructured. A mere surprise at every turn. Reyna surrounds herself with change; she does not live by a fixed schedule—she goes with the flow, following where she desires.
Reyna is the embodiment of red.
Red stands for impulse—for chaos wrapped in commanding attention. It’s vibrant and dominating, radiating nothing short of aggression, hunger and survival.
Reyna does not think before she acts. She lets her hunger and desire consume her, letting it roam free in the battlefield. She calls for attention with each soul she devours, each merciless laugh that comes after. Red is her nature—Reyna is red.
Then late one night, post-recon and bones aching with sleep, Reyna talks to Viper. Their worlds collide. Their paths cross. Blue and red begin to mix.
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Reyna eyes the chemist with interest, her gun rested loosely against her thigh.
“Viper.” Reyna tries, her head lolling lazily to the side, but never taking her gaze off of the stoic woman.
Viper raises a brow, her expression nothing short of indifference. “Reyna.”
“You’re very quiet.”
“I would say so, yes.”
Reyna has to stop herself from chuckling at the latter’s mundane response. She’d expected a quip—or maybe just a break in her stoicism, but even then, Reyna knows that even that would be considered wishful thinking.
“It’s awfully difficult to hold a conversation with you, Viper.”
“That should be a hint great enough in itself, shouldn’t it?” Viper retorts, but her tone remains flat. Unbothered.
“Ah. I take it that you don’t like to talk, then.” Reyna concludes, a smirk plastered on her lips.
Viper does not respond in words this time. She only offers a curt nod—simple, short, and a firm display of her displeasure for chatter.
Reyna feels magnetised to the chemist. A pull so great, not even she could resist. She gives into temptation, and she talks again.
“You intrigue me, Viper.”
Viper does not show any sign of curiosity. She stares, her sharp gaze unwavering. But Reyna knows deep down, Viper is silently asking why.
“I thought you’d be more like a viper—the snake. More…fierce.”
Viper couldn’t help it—she chuckles. Behind the shield of her mask, a tiny, almost imperceptible huff of a chuckle leaves the woman.
“You don’t think i’m fierce?”
A smile breaks free across Reyna’s lips. She’d weaved through a part of the chemist’s defence—even if it was just a minor piece.
“Far from. You’re very silent.”
“Silence does not mean gentle, Reyna.”
Reyna raises a brow at that.
“Enlighten me.”
“A viper snake is silent, but deadly. It does not need to be aggressive to show it is fierce. You just know it is.”
“So reputation speaks louder, is that what i’m getting?”
“Precisely.”
Reyna gets a good laugh—not out of mockery nor ridicule. She laughs because the woman had been more of a surprise than she’d thought. Because for once in her life—the woman drew her in and tied her there.
“I fear i thought i knew everything about you, Viper. Yet it seems…i might not know anything at all.”
And, as if a miracle had been casted down by the Gods themselves—Viper laughs. Not chuckles. Not huffs. Not cruelly. Viper fully, outwardly laughs.
“You don’t know me at all, Reyna.”
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Tests have to be done on Reyna, albeit Viper’s displeasure. She does not appreciate intrusions in her lab—not even from people she considers close to ‘friends’. The lab is hers; hers to keep and have.
Yet, she lets Reyna stay, because Reyna was key to Lucia’s survival. So, just this once, Viper makes an exception. She lets Reyna roam her lab. She lets the woman intrude her space. But even then—it feels almost natural, as if ‘intrude’ was the wrong word in the first place.
Reyna now spends most of her time in Viper’s lab, even during the later hours of the night. This wasn’t an issue though, because Viper herself remains awake when the hours drag late.
Tonight was another one of those nights—Viper spends her night in her lab, perfecting her formulas and looking over Lucia. Reyna remains quiet in the chemist’s lab, her eyes gently fixed on Lucia’s sleeping form.
“How’s Lucia doing?” Reyna asks, her fingers lightly pressed against the clear partition separating her from her sister.
Viper looks up from her desk, expression unreadable. “She’s stable.”
The silence is almost awkward. Reyna does not respond like she usually does. She remains quiet, reserved, and so unlike Reyna.
“…You can go inside the room to see her, you know.” Viper tries to fill the silence, because silence was almost never a thing when Reyna was around.
Reyna’s lips lift slightly. It’s barely there—barely noticeable.
“Yes. I’m aware, Viper.”
Viper types away on her computer, her attention fixed on the data on her screen—but Reyna does not go ignored.
“So why don’t you go in?”
“Makes it harder to face, i guess.” Reyna shrugs, pushing herself off of the wall as she approaches the chemist.
Viper finally stops typing. She clicks her mouse a few times before the sound of her printer running echoes throughout the lab. Her hands are tucked into the pocket of her lab coat as she stands up from her seat, making her way to the printer.
“I understand.”
The chemist’s generous offer of two words makes Reyna chuckle.
“You always have such a way with words, Viper.”
With the printed lab work in hand, Viper turns around, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I don’t comfort, Reyna.”
Reyna can only roll her eyes, though there’s no true fire in them.
“Trust me, i know. It’s very obvious.”
A few minutes of silence settle between them. This time, it’s not awkward, not uncomfortable. It’s…just quiet. The peaceful kind. The kind that doesn’t disturb.
“I may not comfort, but i will do everything i can to help Lucia.”
The duelist snorts—not in a bad way. She just snorts, because it’s as if Viper was stating the obvious.
“I know that, too.”
Despite Reyna’s seemingly laid-back attitude, Viper could see the inner turmoil brewing within the woman. Her worry for her sister does not go unnoticed.
“She’s doing better now, Reyna.” Viper offers her words of peace, not just for comfort, but because they were the truth. Viper doesn’t lie.
A lazy smile graces Reyna’s face, her head slightly tilted to the side. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“That. Trying to make me feel better, i mean.”
Viper’s face remains neutral. “I don’t try to make anyone feel better. I also don’t lie for the sake of it.”
When Reyna remains silent, her graze drawn to a sleeping Lucia with tubes in her arms and machinery keeping her alive, Viper decides to speak again.
“She has shown signs of improvement. Her blood count hasn’t depleted in days.”
Reyna perks up at that. “You’re serious?”
“Yes. Do i look like the type to make jokes?” Viper’s eyes meets Reyna’s, and they each hold the other’s stare.
A quiet, gentle “thanks” is all Reyna manages, her throat slightly bobbing.
Viper acknowledges her with a nod before she rummages through her files of data and documents.
“Actually, Lucia is doing better than i had anticipated. She had enough energy in her to walk a full lap around the lab.”
This time, Reyna really smiles. She smiles like she hasn’t in days—not since Lucia’s condition, anyway.
“I’m glad to know.”
When Viper returns to her desk, she pulls out a chair for the latter—a very rare occurrence and a wordless offer. Viper never asked her to stay, and definitely never to stay by her, at that.
Reyna doesn’t decline the offer, but she approaches with a look of curiosity, almost disbelief. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, Viper.”
The chemist doesn’t even spare her a glance as she feels her settle down next to her, busying herself with the data that covers her computer screen. “Don’t fool yourself, Reyna.”
Reyna laughs, her cheek rested on her palm with her elbow on the table. She watches Viper at work, reading glasses perched low on her nose, posture as tight as ever.
“Thank you, cariño.”
The sudden change in acknowledgment doesn’t slip past Viper, but she remains silent about it.
“I’m just doing my job, Zyanya.”
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Lucia is cured. She now lives a normal life—a childhood that was once robbed from her. No longer does she spend her days confined in Viper’s lab. Lucia now runs free, attending elementary school in her neighbourhood and finally living—trulyliving.
Despite this big change, one thing remains constant and that was none other than Reyna. Even after Lucia’s discharge, Reyna does not stop visiting the lab, not even when Viper points it out.
Their worlds continue to join, their paths begin to merge. No matter how different red and blue were, no matter how striking of a contrast, they were bound to mix, because opposites always attract. Because when mixed, something beautiful is bound to bloom.
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Viper does not miss the agent’s entry into her lab. For a moment, she remains stunned, fairly surprised at Reyna’s presence.
“What are you doing here?”
The agent shrugs, pulling a chair out and settling down next to the chemist. As if it were the most natural of actions.
“Can’t i be here?” Reyna chuckles, eyeing the working woman—just like always.
“I don’t see a reason for you to be.” Viper says, her fingers hanging loosely in the air as they hover over the keyboard. “Lucia has been discharged.”
“So i’m aware.”
Viper’s gaze sharpens, her eyes squinting just slightly and for a short moment. Her attention remains glued to the intrusion.
“Then why are you here?”
“Do you not want me here?”
Silence rests between them as the question hangs in the air—charged and heavy.
A beat. Then two. Then: “I didn’t say that.”
Reyna grins with her teeth, her canines on display. “There’s your answer.”
Viper’s hand reach up to her face, a finger resting on the bridge of her glasses to push it back up. “That’s not a very logical answer.”
“Must everything be logical?”
“I suppose not.”
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Another sleepless night. Viper sits up in bed, her alarm clock gleaming by the bedside table—3:47AM on display.
Viper lets out a breath, lightly tossing the duvet aside as she rises out of her bed, feet padding across the cold marble floor.
The nights are never gentle with her—always keeping her up, not enough to have her troubled, but enough to have her bones aching when the sun rises and her day begins.
When nights like these have her out of bed, Viper does not let those precious hours before sunrise go to waste. She leaves her quarters and silently weaves her way through the dark halls, finding her lab.
The laboratory is cold and bright, the harsh luminous lights a stark contrast to the gentle dark the night brings.
Viper doesn’t bother with her lab coat as she settles at her desk, body clad in just her nightgown.
Her tendency to visit the laboratory during sleepless nights was not an uncommon trait—but what was uncommon was for another being to enter her lab during this late hour.
Viper almost freezes in her seat when she sees Reyna closing the door behind her, pulling a chair out, and settling down next to her. Just like all the times before—except those were in the mornings and afternoons, when Viper was more guarded and less vulnerable.
When Reyna feels comfortable in her seat, she rests her arms on the table and puts her head down, seeming unguarded as ever.
“Reyna.” Viper’s voice comes out strained, her limbs tense and jaw clenched tight. “What are you doing?”
From the corner of her elbow, Reyna peeks an eye at the chemist. “Can’t sleep.”
Although Viper’s voice remains clipped, her tone is softer around the edge—a slight hint of understanding. “Doesn’t answer my question.”
“It does.” Reyna presses, going back to her original position with her head tucked in her arms.
“And how do you think that?”
“It’s simple, cariño. Company keeps me relaxed. I sleep when i’m relaxed.”
Viper leans back in her chair, gazing at the agent curiously. “I’m sure there are other agents plenty awake at this hour, and more willing to keep you company than i am.”
“I guess that’s just too bad, then.” She mumbles, slightly muffled within the barriers of her enclosed arms.
“…Are you seriously going to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Reyna realises she won’t get the opportunity to sleep so long as Viper nags her questions. With a deep groan, she lifts her head back up and her chin settles on her forearm.
“Because you’re good company, Sabine.”
Viper cocks a brow, unsure whether to chastise her for the use of her government name, or to press on about the matter.
She does neither.
“Then you have a terrible gauge in what is considered good company.”
Reyna laughs easily, the corners of her eyes creasing as her lips lift into a wide smile.
“So the lady can joke, after all.”
And Viper’s laugh follows next. Her laugh is easy, light and comes natural. Like she’s laughed many times before, even if she really hasn’t.
“I’m not all work, you know.”
“Would have surprised me, cariño.”
“And what’s that supposed to imply, hm?” Viper wears a small smile. It’s not flashy or a major change, but it’s something, and it’s enough to keep the conversation going.
“Nothing at all. You’re just…very hard to read, Sabine.”
Viper scoffs. “You make it sound like i’m impossible to profile.”
“You practically are. But, i like this version of you.”
That leaves Viper dumbfounded. Her heart thumps, and she doesn’t know why, but she doesn’t like the way it beats faster. Or the way her body feels slightly warm even under the air conditioner. Or the way the agent was currently looking at her so…soft. So unguarded.
“And what is ‘this version’ of me?” She couldn’t help herself from asking.
“The gentle version,” Reyna says it with such nonchalance, you would think that it was nothing but casual chatter.
Except Viper doesn’t do chatter, remember? At least that’s what she’s trying to tell herself now—when she finds herself conversing with the latter so easily, so naturally.
“The first time we talked—it can hardly be compared to now.” She continues with a tone of indifference. “This version of you is…not fierce. It’s nice.”
Now the words were starting to get to the chemist. She could try to feign oblivion, but that would be difficult, considering how she currently looked like a deer caught in headlights.
After a moment of charged silence, Viper speaks up. “Shut up and sleep.”
“No more questions?” Reyna teases, but she’s already ducking her head back into her arms.
“No. Now sleep.”
Reyna doesn’t see it, but Viper’s gaze lingers on her for a second longer. Reyna doesn’t see it, but Viper smiles. Not small, not a twitch, but a full-stretched smile—the type that reaches the eye.
Lines are blurring into one. Colours are mixing. Connections are forming. Blue and red are swirling around, no longer separate or so far apart.
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They don’t talk about the change between them. They don’t talk about how they revolve so easily around each other, so carefree and unbothered.
After that night in the lab, the two have grown close, conversations flowing with ease and mutual company reciprocated.
Viper—so blue, so distant, is changing. And Reyna—burning red, made by chaos, is also changing.
But tonight feels different. More intimate, more relaxed, because Viper has just showered after returning from a mission—and it’s not her shower that she emerges from, it’s Reyna’s.
Because tonight—tensions were high with words unspoken.
The mission had gone to shit. Miscalculations and errors in judgement had ultimately landed the team in a position of no escape. It was a fight-or-die situation—kill or be killed. And it was not easy.
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Icebox—Kingdom Corporation, Bennett Island.
Reyna’s lungs burn like fire as her legs carry her through the building, running up a flight of steps, only to be met by more of Kingdom’s men.
She doesn’t even think before she draws her gun again, her shots connecting and taking each agent down multiple at a time. Time was not on her side. She had to be quick.
A bomb was set to detonate in three minutes—she was the closest, and it was all on her shoulders now.
She clears the first wave of Kingdom forces with practiced ease, advancing forward and moving with precision.
It wasn’t long before another wave of men swarmed her—this time faster, more aggressive, less time to react.
Reyna moves before she can register a plan in her head, because that’s what she does. She doesn’t stop to think, she goes.
She kills one, narrowly missing the same fate for herself as she dismisses out, tucking herself into a corner. Bullets ricochet, taking chunks of concrete with it, barely grazing past Reyna’s cheek.
Two minutes.
She takes a breath before throwing a blind, swiftly taking down a few more and dismissing once again, this time to their backline. They don’t expect it and their lack of awareness makes her next four kills come easy.
In any other occasion, Reyna would celebrate and boast of her victory, but she couldn’t. Not now and not here.
Reyna clears kitchen and moves silently, her senses on high alert. The snow crunches beneath her feet as she flanks, the area eerily quiet.
On her way, she crosses Viper near conveyor, each exchanging a silent nod that holds tonnes. But they both can’t afford to be distracted, so they move together, checking corners and having the other’s off-angle.
One minute.
Reyna doesn’t have a choice. She either moves for the bomb, or they all go down with it.
“Viper,” she turns to the latter, chest heaving. “I’m going for the defuse. Cover me.”
Viper nods as Reyna runs forward, following at a distance, but she doesn’t get a chance to advance further as one of Kingdom’s men appear and fire their gun.
A shot echoes. A hard thump on the ground follows.
30 seconds.
Reyna hears it. She barely flinches, but she can’t afford to look up now. Her attention is entirely drawn to the bomb—beeping and screaming as it threatens to detonate.
She hears the slightest of footsteps from behind and she gets off the bomb, turning around to fire her rifle.
It’s a headshot.
15 seconds.
Reyna’s victory is short-lived as the bomb’s urgency invades her mind and she hops back onto the bomb, continuing its defuse.
She doesn’t see the gun aimed at her head. She doesn’t see the agent that had inched up behind her, nuzzle trained on her skull.
A shot is fired.
The facility is silent.
A body falls.
Reyna blinks. She’s alive. The bomb has been defused.
Up ahead, where Viper had been previously shot, she stays standing—just barely, leaning against the cool metal wall. Her gun drops by her side and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
And behind Reyna—a lifeless body of a Kingdom agent lays flat, limp and defeated, blood pooling on the ground.
“Sabine.” Reyna whispers shakily, eyes wide.
“Zyanya.” Sabine breathes heavily, swallowing hard.
Reyna approaches Viper with quick steps, arms finding the woman’s waist as she presses her forehead against her shoulder. “Fuck.”
Viper manages a weak chuckle, a hand resting on Reyna’s back. “Yeah—fuck.”
The walk back to the jet was silent, and so was the ride back to Protocol. The air was heavy, and no one points out the way their pinky fingers overlap one other. Nor do they point out the way they sit side-by-side, thighs touching, knees pressed.
When they landed, no one says anything about how Reyna drags Viper down the hallway with their pinkies still interlocked.
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Steam curls around Viper as she emerges from Reyna’s shower, a towel wrapped tightly around her bust. The warm air was comforting as she wipes the fog off of the mirror with her palm, glancing at herself through it.
The ends of her hair dripped with water, falling onto the counter beneath her hands as she steadies herself on it.
Then a knock cuts through the silence. “Sabine? Are you okay in there?”
Viper takes a breath, then another, and she replies. “Yeah—yes. I’m fine.”
She takes one last look at herself before grabbing ahold of the handle of the bathroom door. “I’m coming out now.”
Instinctually, Reyna steps aside as Viper exits her bathroom. She doesn’t breathe—she forgets how to. In front of her stood the 5’9 scientist; soft around the edges, doe-eyed and lips slightly parted.
“Why are you staring?” Viper attempts to grumble, but it comes out far gentler than she anticipated. As if she was genuinely asking—because maybe she was.
This time, Reyna doesn’t have a smart remark. She remains silent, a set of neatly-folded pyjamas in her hands.
Viper huffs with a smile so gentle, so real, it almost catches Reyna off-guard. “Zyanya. Why aren’t you talking?”
“I…” Is all Reyna manages to say before she turns her head, looking to the side with her arms outstretched, presenting the pyjamas to the latter. “Go change.”
The chemist takes the clothes wordlessly, still smiling as she turns to change. “Never thought i’d see you so quiet.”
Reyna wears a sheepish grin, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Are you saying i’m always noisy?”
When Viper finishes changing, she turns back around, the pyjamas hanging slightly loose on her thinner frame. “Perhaps.”
Reyna grumbles something incoherent before sitting down on the edge of her bed, fingers curled around the white sheets.
She doesn’t look up right away, eyes firmly fixed on the sheets beneath her hands. She also doesn’t admit how there’s a sudden rush in her chest—warm and steady, like it was meant to happen. From aside, Viper simply watches, slightly amused.
“What are you doing?” Viper asks as she steps closer, her voice low.
Reyna clears her throat with a chuckle. “Trying,” she says, “to remember how to hold a conversation with you.”
“What’s making it hard now?” Though Viper already has a clue.
Reyna finally looks up. Her eyes are soft, meeting Viper’s with such tenderness it made Viper’s heart race just a bit quicker. “You.”
“I’m always me.” Viper shrugs with casual indifference, the corners of her lips lifting into a small smile.
“Not right now, you’re not. Not in my pyjamas, not in my room, and definitely not when you look like this.”
Viper’s smile falters—not out of discomfort, but something gentler, almost vulnerable. Her arms wrap loosely around herself, fingers brushing the soft fabric of Reyna’s borrowed pyjamas. “You brought me here.”
“Yes,” Reyna nods once. Firm. “And you followed.”
Viper’s feet move and she finds herself next to Reyna on the bed, knees touching and barely an inch between their pinkies.
Viper doesn’t say anything at first. She simply sits there, letting the quiet settle—letting the weight of the night, the mission, the near-death, she lets all of it settle like dust around them.
Reyna’s pinky twitch once. Barely there, barely noticeable.
But Viper notices, because she always does with Reyna. Yet she doesn’t point out the way Reyna’s shoulders are tense and barely moving with everything unsaid.
“Zyanya,” she murmurs, her voice closer and softer. “You can breathe.”
Reyna huffs out a quiet laugh, almost defeated. “I am breathing.”
“Not very well.” Viper counters.
For a moment, Reyna remains silent. Then she tilts her head, turning just enough that their shoulders brush—just enough that Viper can see the vulnerability in her eyes.
“You almost died.”
“I know.” Viper lifts her pinky and rests it on Reyna’s, just like she had on the jet. “So did you.”
Reyna’s jaw tightens before her head drops gently against the front of the chemist’s shoulder, breath warm against Viper’s collarbone. Her fingers reach blindly for Viper’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline.
“Sabine, I—”
Viper doesn’t respond. She only curls her fingers around Reyna’s, threading their fingers together—steady and sure, grounding her without a word.
“I don’t like the way it feels, Sabine.” Reyna admits it so softly, so silently that Viper nearly misses it.
“The way what feels?” Viper asks gently, her thumb grazing over Reyna’s knuckles.
“…Losing you.” The admission slips out—heavy, raw and painfully real.
Viper inhales sharply. “You didn’t lose me.”
“But i could’ve.” She argues, her voice thin and so damn shaky. “I heard the shot, Sabine. I thought—i thought that was you.”
“But it wasn’t me, Zyanya. I’m alive—and so are you.”
Reyna exhales a shaky breath—almost that of a chuckle, and she turns her hand under Viper’s, palms brushing in a soft glide that carries the weight of unbearable intimacy. “Guess we are.”
Silence settles again—this time lighter, warmer. Not suffocating like before. Not heavy like before.
“You scare me, Sabine.” Reyna says after a moment of silence, lifting her head off Viper’s shoulder to meet her eye-to-eye.
Viper raises her brows. “I scare you?”
Reyna looks back down, eyes trained on her lap as she pulls their joint-hands over her thigh, fingers tracing mindlessly. “Not you. Just…what you make me feel.”
For a moment, Viper freezes. She thinks of her following words carefully, because she knows that tonight is a turning point in their dynamic. They were about to cross a line that can’t be uncrossed and can’t be ignored.
“Then i guess we are both scared.”
Reyna’s head snaps up, staring at Viper with such intensity that has Viper feeling…shy.
“Because you scare me too, Zyanya. And yet…i’m still here.” Her voice is soft, unflinching and so damn open.
Reyna almost thinks she’s dreaming. She stares for a moment longer, eyes scanning every line of Viper’s face, searching for uncertainty.
She doesn’t find any.
She shifts closer, closing what little distance was between them until their thighs press together, hands still interlinked. Still holding. Still staying.
“Sabine,” Reyna murmurs, voice soft and sweet. “If i…if i touch you, will you stop me?”
Viper swallows hard, her throat bobbing visibly. “No.”
Her response is firm. Sure. Certain.
Slowly—as if wavering on fragility—Reyna lifts her free hand and cradles Viper’s jaw, her thumb grazing over the minor cut on her cheek; a reminder of what transpired hours prior.
Viper finds herself nuzzling into Reyna’s palm, her own hand coming up to rest over the back of Reyna’s.
“You are the one change i can tolerate.” Viper’s eyes flutter, her words coming out shaky—but not uncertain. Just raw and real.
Reyna leans in, forehead pressing to Viper’s, noses brushing.
“And you are the one constant i don’t want to change.”
Viper's breath hitches—tiny, involuntary—and her fingers tighten around Reyna's hand. For a moment, they let their words settle and they simply breathe together, the air warm and shared.
And then, in a whisper so loud: “Zyanya…kiss me.”
Reyna doesn’t hesitate.
Their lips meet in a kiss so soft, so steady—it drowns out the entire world outside of them. Because right now, in this moment—lips pressed together, noses brushing, hands holding—it was theirs. Theirs to keep. Theirs to have. Theirs to choose.
When they part with barely an inch between them, Viper notices Reyna’s unmoving shoulders.
“You’re still not breathing.”
Reyna smiles. “Could say the same about you.”
She leans in again, lips meeting and moving in sync. “Guess we can breathe together, then.”
Viper lets out a small laugh against Reyna’s lips. “I guess so.”
Reyna shifts then, pulling Viper gently into her arms, lying back on the bed with her tucked safely against her chest.
“Stay with me tonight.” She mutters against the crown of Viper’s head, slightly nuzzling into her hair.
Viper doesn’t respond physically, but she pushes herself closer and throws a leg over Reyna’s waist, her hand settling over her right breast.
The blankets shift and the night finally settles—the danger of Bennett Island long forgotten.
They both breathe in their shared little space—sacred and just theirs to be in. Their breaths come slow, deep and safe.
And their pinkies, still intertwined, still holding, never once let go.
Because after all, blue and red have mixed together, far beyond separation, and they merge into a soft purple. A purple that represents both extremes—a purple that balances out their differences. A purple so vulnerable and pure, but not scary, not daunting.
Chaos and control combine into one, isolation turns into connection, blue turns warm and red softens up. They are no longer different—they find a middle, where Reyna is no monster and Viper is no mask.