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The explosion was, in Jayce’s professional opinion, not even that bad.
It had been contained. Mostly. The blast had respected the load-bearing walls, ignored the neighbors, and only destroyed three benches, a prototype array, and the better part of his living room. A successful failure, really. The data alone had been fascinating.
The real problem was the ceiling, which now resembled a modern art installation titled Hubris in Plaster.
Jayce was in the middle of explaining this, hands moving faster than his thoughts, voice tumbling forward with the breathless urgency of a man who already knew the verdict but could not help pleading his case to the universe anyway.
“It was a resonance feedback loop,” he said, gesturing vaguely at a scorched support beam. “Perfectly avoidable in hindsight, obviously, but the crystalline lattice behaved in a way I didn’t anticipate and once it started amplifying instead of harmonizing, well. Physics did what physics does.”
Mel was not looking at the damage.
She stood amid the wreckage in a tailored coat, gold accents catching the dust as it drifted down in slow, glittering motes. Her expression was sharp, composed, unreadable. The kind of stillness that usually preceded decisive action.
Jayce took a breath to continue. “In my defense—”
She crossed the distance between them in an instant and clung to him.
It was not graceful. It was not restrained.
Mel Medarda did not rush. She did not startle. She did not throw herself into situations without calculation.
Except now.
Her arms locked around his shoulders, fingers fisting hard in the back of his ruined shirt, cheek pressed to the soot-warmed skin of his neck like the ground had dropped out beneath her and he was the only solid thing left in the room. Jayce felt the force of it a heartbeat later, the way her grip tightened, desperate and unguarded, as though she were counting his breaths against her own. One. Two. Still here.
Instinct took over.
He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her slightly, anchoring them both. Her weight settled against him, real and warm, and something in his chest loosened even as it ached. He pressed his mouth into her hair without thinking.
“Hey,” he murmured softly into her ear. “I’m fine.”
She shook her head against him, sharp and frustrated, breath warm where it ghosted over his collarbone. “You scare me when you say things like that,” she said. Her voice was low, tight, threaded with something fragile he almost never heard from her. “You scare me when you treat explosions like inconveniences.”
He smiled faintly, even as that ache bloomed wider. “I mean, comparatively speaking—”
Her fingers dug into his back. Not hard enough to hurt. Just enough to stop him.
Warning. Boundary.
Jayce fell quiet immediately.
He held her instead. Held her while her breathing slowed, while the tension bled out of her shoulders inch by careful inch. Dust settled around them, soft as snowfall. Somewhere behind them, a crystal made a faint, cooling ping, an almost delicate sound in the aftermath of violence.
Time passed. Jayce did not rush it.
When she finally pulled back, she did not step away. Her hands remained pressed flat against his chest, palms firm, like she was confirming that he remained exactly where she left him. Solid. Alive.
“You are moving in with me,” she said.
Jayce blinked. “I was going to suggest a hotel?”
“No,” Mel replied calmly, already composed again, though her hands did not leave him. “You will forget to rest. You will rebuild this place with duct tape and optimism. You will blow something else up.”
“That last one is statistically unlikely,” he offered weakly.
Her mouth twitched, betraying her. “Jayce.”
“…Okay,” he conceded.
Living with Mel was nothing like Jayce had imagined and exactly like something he had not realized he was missing.
Her apartment was immaculate but never cold. It felt intentional, curated without being untouchable. Art lined the walls that made him stop mid-sentence, pieces that demanded attention whether he was prepared or not. Light pooled where it was meant to, warm and flattering. She moved through the space with quiet confidence, barefoot half the time, silk robes draped over furniture like she trusted the world not to wrinkle them.
Jayce arrived with boxes.
So many boxes.
Books stacked two rows deep. Half-disassembled equipment he promised he would not need. Containers of rocks that Mel eyed skeptically before designating a shelf, then another, then eventually an entire cabinet.
They learned each other sideways.
Mel learned that Jayce hummed when he thought, a low, tuneless sound he did not notice himself making. That he forgot to eat when focused and then overcorrected with absurdly elaborate meals that fed them for days. That he needed noise while working and complete silence while sleeping.
Jayce learned that Mel color-coded her calendar but hated alarms. That she showed her domestic care by working around his mess. That she liked her tea stronger than he expected and sweeter than she admitted, especially late at times when the world pressed in and even she found wine too much of a distraction.
They learned where to give ground and where to lean.
They built gingerbread houses on the kitchen island one evening, flour dusting the marble like fresh snow.
Jayce engineered load-bearing walls with toothpicks and frosting, muttering about tensile strength and sugar crystallization. Mel went purely aesthetic. Gold leaf accents. Elegant lines. Forgot to add windows completely.
His stood tall.
Hers collapsed.
“Oops,” she laughed, taking another bite of her fallen house and turning a calculating eye toward his gumdrop roof.
“Mel…” he warned.
“Hmm?” she replied lightly, already circling.
“Mel,” he said again, backing away, frosting spatula raised like a very flimsy shield. “That structure took forty minutes of calculated engineering.”
She swallowed, eyes glittering. “And yet,” she said sweetly, plucking a gumdrop from his roof, “it is tragically unguarded.”
Jayce yelped. “That was a load-bearing gumdrop!”
She laughed and bolted. Bare feet slapped against marble as she fled, silk robe fluttering, crumbs scattering like evidence.
“Mel!” he protested, chasing her. “You cannot destabilize a system and walk away!”
“Oh, I absolutely can,” she called over her shoulder. “I do it professionally.”
She circled the dining table. Jayce followed, longer strides closing the gap, but she cut sharply toward the couch and vaulted over the arm with surprising grace.
He skidded to a stop, staring. “When did you learn to do that?”
“I contain multitudes,” she replied smugly.
He lunged again and this time she did not run.
She let him get close. Close enough to grab her wrist. She twisted, laughing, and pushed lightly at his chest, frosting smearing across his shirt.
He froze.
She looked down. Looked back up.
“Oh,” she said. “I’ve made a mistake.”
Jayce glanced at the smear, then back at her, eyes darkening with mock seriousness. “You have crossed a line.”
Her lips curved. “Have I?”
He caught her then, arms wrapping around her waist as she squeaked and laughed. He lifted her easily, spinning once as she clutched at his shoulders, breathless.
“Jayce!” she laughed. “Put me down!”
“Apologize to the house.”
“I will not.”
He carried her back to the island and set her down gently, caging her in with his arms. The gingerbread house stood between them, slightly damaged but defiant.
She stole another gumdrop anyway.
Jayce sighed. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” she said, brushing frosting from his collar with careful fingers, lingering there just a second longer than necessary, “you seem quite fond of me.”
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, smiling softly. “I am.”
They hosted small holiday gatherings after that. Nothing loud. Just Cailyn, Vi, Elora, Sky, Lest and Viktor. Candles. Wine. Charcuterie boards. Pianists hired. Familiar faces. Jayce inevitably cornered Lest or Elora about mineral formations while Mel watched from across the room, fond amusement softening her sharp edges. Sometimes she rescued her friends with a gentle touch to his arm. Sometimes she let him ramble at her, because she liked watching him light up as they slow danced and shared kisses under the mistletoe.
At night, they read in bed. Sometimes close. Sometimes tangled. Sometimes just sharing quiet like it was a luxury neither of them had known they were allowed.
One evening, Jayce found her at her desk, heirloom case open. She cataloged each piece with care. Diamonds. Rubies. Sapphires.
And the crystals.
His crystals.
He drifted closer without realizing it. “You organized them by formation,” he said softly. “That one’s igneous. This one grew near water. This one,” he lifted a familiar piece, reverent, “formed under pressure for decades.”
“Asked Sky to give me a crash course before I organised them.” Mel then turned, watching his face as he spoke, the way his voice gentled. “You talk about them like people.”
He smiled, sheepish. “They kind of are.”
After that, the rocks multiplied.
Jayce brought her crystals the way other people brought flowers. Small, thoughtful offerings. He placed them beside her teacup, on her desk, on her nightstand. Each came with a story. Strength. Patience. Quiet brilliance.
She accepted every single one.
The night it finally happened, they lay in bed, lights low, books open. Mel rested on her side, hair tucked into her bonnet, one leg tangled with his. Jayce was halfway lost in an academic text when she spoke.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “penguins give rocks when they want to make their partner permanent.”
“Uh huh,” Jayce murmured, adjusting his glasses, only half-listening.
She reached for the nightstand and placed a crystal in his hand. Clear. Perfectly imperfect.
“It’s probably not as meaningful as all the ones you’ve given me,” she said softly, a rare shyness threading her voice, “but me too. I like this. Us. Too.”
Jayce froze.
Then his heart did something catastrophic and irreversible.
He looked at the crystal. Looked at her. His eyes went bright, overwhelmed, utterly undone.
“Mel,” he breathed.
He kissed her slow and certain, like he was sealing something sacred as the snow fell outside and the magic was all between them.