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The mission had gone wrong long before either of them realized it.
Vanta knew it the moment Wilson hesitated.
"Wilson, move!"
The shout echoed through the comms. Wilson flinched, recovering just in time to avoid the attack. The mission continued, but the tension lingered like smoke.
By the time they returned to headquarters, exhaustion had sharpened every rough edge.
"You didn't trust me," Wilson said quietly as they stepped into the empty briefing room.
Vanta laughed bitterly.
"Trust you? You almost got yourself killed."
"I had it handled."
"No, you didn't."
The words came too fast.
Too harsh.
Wilson stared at him.
For a second, Vanta almost apologized.
Almost.
Instead, he kept going.
"You always do this. You think everything will work out if you just wing it."
Wilson's expression fell.
"And you think you have to carry everything yourself."
Silence.
The argument spiraled from there.
Weeks of stress.
Unspoken frustrations.
Things neither of them truly meant.
When Wilson finally walked away, Vanta didn't stop him.
That night, he sat alone in his room staring at their old messages.
The photos.
The jokes.
The plans.
The future they'd talked about.
His chest hurt.
Because despite everything, he loved Wilson.
Maybe that was exactly why he had to let him go.
Wilson deserved someone better.
Someone patient.
Someone who wouldn't snap at him.
Someone who wasn't Vanta.
It wasn't like he wanted to.
In all honesty? He didn't want this at all.
But his words, the way he snapped at Wilson? The way his eyes stared back in shock at his sudden outburst?
How could he ever do that to Wilson? The person who has never given on him once.
His fingers shook as he typed.
> We should break up.
The message sat there.
Then:
> You'd be happier without me.
Sent.
The reply came almost immediately.
> Vanta, don't do this.
He stared at it.
Another message arrived.
> Let's talk first.
Then another.
> Please.
Vanta's throat tightened.
If they talked, he'd cave.
If Wilson asked him to stay, he'd stay.
And sooner or later he'd hurt him again.
Vanta would rather have Wilson hate him than stick around with him.
So Vanta chose the coward's way out.
He kept pushing.
Kept insisting.
Kept pretending this was what he wanted.
Eventually the messages stopped.
And just like that they were over.
Wilson told himself he'd be fine.
Days became weeks.
Weeks became months.
But every time he reached for his phone after a good mission, he thought about texting Vanta.
Every time he heard a joke Vanta would've laughed at.
Every time he walked past places they'd spent time together.
The ache remained.
He missed him.
A lot.
Still, life moved forward.
Eventually, a new assignment came in.
His partner would be Claude.
At first, it felt awkward.
Claude was different from Vanta in almost every way.
Calmer.
More observant.
Patient.
He never pushed Wilson when he wasn't ready to talk.
Instead, he simply stayed.
Mission after mission, they learned each other's habits.
Claude remembered details.
The way Wilson liked his coffee.
The songs he hummed when he was focused.
The fact that he always looked out for everyone else before himself.
Somehow, being around Claude felt easy.
Comfortable.
Safe.
Wilson didn't notice how much closer they'd become until one evening after a successful mission.
They were sitting on a rooftop overlooking the city.
Claude handed him a drink.
"You seem happier lately."
Wilson smiled.
"Do I?"
"A little."
The answer surprised him.
Because Claude was right.
For the first time in a long time, he was.
Months passed.
Not enough to erase the past.
Just enough to make it hurt less.
Then one night, Wilson's phone buzzed.
A familiar name appeared on the screen.
Vanta.
For a moment, his heart stopped.
The message was simple.
> Hey.
Wilson stared at it for several minutes before replying.
The conversation started awkwardly.
Small talk.
Updates.
Questions.
Until eventually Vanta sent the message Wilson had always imagined receiving.
> I still miss you.
Wilson's chest tightened.
Another message followed.
> I made a mistake.
Then:
> If there's any chance... I'd like to try again.
For a long time, Wilson didn't answer.
Because a younger version of him would've said yes immediately.
The version that cried himself to sleep after the breakup.
The version that waited for Vanta to come back.
But that version wasn't who he was anymore.
Eventually, he typed.
> I missed you too.
The typing indicator appeared instantly.
Wilson continued.
> But I think we're better as friends.
Several seconds passed.
Then a minute.
Finally:
> Yeah.
> Maybe you're right.
The response hurt more than Wilson expected.
Not because he regretted his answer.
But because he knew Vanta was hurting too.
Neither of them had been villains.
Just people who loved each other and made mistakes.
After a while, the conversation ended.
For the first time, there was no bitterness.
No anger.
Just acceptance.
Closure.
A few days later, Claude found Wilson sitting alone in the lounge.
"You look thoughtful."
Wilson laughed.
"Had an interesting conversation."
Claude nodded.
He didn't ask for details.
That was another thing Wilson liked about him.
Claude always respected his boundaries.
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Claude suddenly spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
Wilson looked over.
Claude seemed unusually nervous.
"I've been trying to figure out how to say this for months."
Wilson blinked.
Months?
Claude took a breath.
Then smiled.
A genuine, slightly embarrassed smile.
"Would you like to go on a date with me?"
For a moment, Wilson just stared.
Then he laughed softly.
Not because it was funny.
Because somehow, after everything, the answer felt easy.
"Yeah."
Claude's eyes widened.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The smile that spread across Claude's face made Wilson's heart skip.
Not in the painful way it used to.
In a hopeful way.
A new beginning.
Not a replacement for the past.
Not an attempt to erase it.
Just something new.
Something worth choosing.
And for the first time in a very long time, Wilson felt ready to move forward.