Finn Lennoy- July 2120
He's been quiet since we left the lab. Not the focused kind of quiet, the stormy kind. He hasn't said a word the whole drive home, just stared out the window with that far-off look he gets when something's eating at him.
I think about asking what's wrong, but I've known him long enough to know better. If I don't catch him at the right time, he'll just brush it off like nothing's wrong and disappear into his work.
We pull up into the driveway, and before I can even turn off the engine, Noah's already out of the car and halfway to the house. I let out a long breath and lean back in the seat for a moment, watching him disappear inside.
Yeah. He's definitely in a mood.
When I finally step inside, the house is quiet. Too quiet. No shoes by the door, no jacket on the chair. Which can only mean one thing, he's gone to that makeshift lab of his at the back of the garden.
Every time he gets like this, he just buries himself in work. I don't think he even realises he's doing it anymore.
It's late, and neither of us have eaten since that rushed lunch at the lab. My stomach makes a quiet protest, so I head to the kitchen and throw something together, nothing fancy, just something warm. Two plates. I already know he'll say he's not hungry, but he'll eat once it's in front of him. He always does.
The garden is neat, every flower trimmed, every path tidy, and then there's the shed at the end, or rather, Noah's lab. It looks out of place, a strange little island of science in the middle of all that green.
I knock on the door.Nothing.
I knock again.Still nothing.
Third time's the charm and the door flies open.
"Stop with the knocking. I'm clearly busy," he says, sounding more irritated than he probably means to. His hair's a mess, sleeves rolled up, tie gone.
Goggles still on, though. Somehow, he always forgets the coat but never the goggles.
"Time to eat," I tell him, holding up the plates.
"I'm not hungry." He starts to shut the door, but I wedge my foot in before he can.
"Yeah, yeah. How about you sit with me while I eat, so I'm not alone?"
He pauses, eyeing me like he's weighing his options. Then he sighs."Fine. If you insist. But not in the lab."
Got him.
I can't help but smile a little as he pushes his goggles up onto his head and follows me outside.
It's a warm night, the kind where the air feels soft and still. The sky's clear, stars scattered like salt across black velvet. We settle at the garden table, plates between us. For a while, neither of us says anything.
Then, without a word, Noah picks up his fork and starts eating. I hide a small grin. Typical. He's like a kid sometimes, stubborn for the sake of it, but it's part of what makes him… well, him. Everyone else sees the Miracle Scientist, the prodigy with perfect control. I see the man who still can't feed himself and forgets where he's left his shoes.
The silence between us isn't awkward. It's comfortable. Gentle. The kind that fills the air without needing to be broken. I can feel the tension ease out of his shoulders bit by bit, and I let him be. This kind of silence always helps Noah settle down, so I've learned how to slip it in without him noticing, gentle enough that he doesn't realise I'm doing it.
When I glance at him, he's staring up at the sky, eyes reflecting the stars.
There's something about him in these moments that makes my chest tighten, like he's not just looking at the stars, but reaching for something he lost among them.
We finish eating, and I take his plate, setting it aside. Neither of us moves to go back inside. The night's too peaceful for that.
I reach into my pack and hand Noah the small container, his antipsychotics.
Most of the time, he comes across calm, collected even, but a brilliant mind like his comes with consequences.
After Kai died, something inside Noah seemed to snap. He became easily agitated, his thoughts scattered and disorganised. I caught him talking to himself more than once, flipping rapidly between topics, like he was arguing with his own mind. And when he couldn't make sense of his own illogical thoughts, his frustration would explode into sudden, uncontrollable anger.
I'll never forget the day after one of those outbursts. I found him curled up in a corner of his home lab, his hands soaked in blood, and his white hair stained red from the force with which he had gripped it. A smashed beaker lay nearby from one of his experiments gone wrong. The cuts on his hands were deep, to deep to treat myself.
It wasn't until I took him to the hospital that we learned he had Psychotic Disorder. The medication has helped him since, stabilising what I sometimes fear is an untamable part of him.
After he takes his medicine, I break the silence. "You ready to talk now?"
He exhales softly, eyes still on the sky. "How do you always know when I'm in a mood?" There's the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips, gone before I can answer.
"I've known you long enough," I say simply, returning the smile.
He nods, still looking up. "Remember when me, you, and Kai used to sit by the river after your training? Just like this."
The words hit harder than I expect. For a second, I forget how to breathe. Of course I remember. Those were the best days, long evenings by the water, laughing until we couldn't stand, pretending the world would never change.
But it did. Kai's gone. And ever since, Noah's never been the same. Neither of us have.
I look at him, really look at him, and there's something fragile in the way he's sitting there, lost in memory. I want to say something comforting, something wise, but all that comes out is, "Yeah… I remember."
The night hums softly around us, crickets in the grass, wind brushing through the flowers.
I glance at him again, the way his white hair catches the starlight, the faint crease between his brows that never seems to fade anymore. He looks older when he's quiet like this. Not in years, but in weight. Like he's been carrying the world a little too long.
I hate seeing him like that. Always trying to figure everything out, even feelings, even grief, like they're equations he can solve.
"You know," I say after a bit, "if Kai were here, he'd tell you to stop overthinking the stars."
Noah's eyes flick toward me. "I wasn't overthinking. I was just… observing."
"Uh-huh," I say with a grin. "You've got that 'calculating something in your head' look again."
He sighs, but there's the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "For once, I'm not running numbers in my head."
"Sure," I say, leaning back on my hands. "Next you'll start telling me the exact distance between us and Pluto."
He huffs a quiet laugh. "About 3.7 billion miles away right now, give or take a few hundred million."
I shake my head, smiling. "Alright, smart arse"
"I prefer efficient," he says, but his voice is lighter now.
That's better. That's the sound I was trying to bring back.
We sit for a moment, the air between us finally easy again.
I nudge his arm gently. "anyways, stop being moody and eat dessert.'"
That gets a real laugh out of him, short, but genuine.
The night's still warm, the stars still watching, but the heaviness is gone. As we head back inside Noah's walking a little looser now, shoulders not so tense.
_______________________________
The next morning, everything's back to our usual routine. I wake up first, like always, and shuffle into the kitchen to get breakfast and coffee ready. There's something soothing about these quiet mornings before the world wakes up, just me, the smells of coffee, and the soft hum of the house.
Once I've got everything set, I knock on Noah's bedroom door.
As expected, no answer. He's always been terrible at getting up in the morning. Late nights in the lab will do that to you and probably all those years he spent buried in research while the rest of the world was asleep.
I push the door open and step inside. He's still asleep, completely unbothered by the morning sun creeping through the blinds. He looks… peaceful. Vulnerable, even. There's something about seeing him like this that makes my chest tighten. He's calm, unguarded and yet, I can't tear my eyes away.
After all these years of keeping my feelings buried, I'd thought I might get used to it, but I haven't. If anything, it feels worse. Every time I watch him sleep, my heart picks up like it's reminding me of what I can't say.
I've accepted it, though. I know him well enough to understand that he'd never be able to respond the way I wish he could. That doesn't mean I don't want it, just that I've learned to find my happiness in being around him, seeing him safe and untroubled, even if only for a moment.
"Hey, wake up," I say gently. He stirs but doesn't actually open his eyes.
I take a breath and tug the sheets off him. That does the trick, he shoots upright, hair all over the place, eyes half-lidded and annoyed.
"Can't you just let me sleep in peace?" he groans.
I lean in a little closer, face almost brushing his, and tease him softly, "If I had my way, you'd never sleep in peace."
He groans again, more out of disbelief than anger, and I can't help but laugh.
There's something so effortless about him, even in annoyance, he makes me smile. I step back toward the door, giving him space to collect himself.
"Come on," I call, still grinning. "Get ready and eat the breakfast I made before we leave."
I linger for a second longer, just watching him wake up fully, enjoying the quiet of the morning and the rare moments when he's still oblivious to how much I care.
_________________________________
Today's schedule isn't the usual. Meetings stacked back to back, each one more draining than the last. By the time midday rolls around, I can see the subtle signs of exhaustion in Noah. The tight line of his jaw, the way his shoulders slump ever so slightly, the faint twitch in his fingers. He's itching to get back to his lab, to retreat into the sanctuary of his work, and I don't blame him.
We shuffle into the next meeting and I stand in my usual postion behind Noah. The room is bright, sterile, the kind of place that demands attention and obedience. Noah slides in at the head of the table like he owns the room, calm, poised, eyes scanning the room with that sharp precision he always wears like armour. I know he's already calculating, assessing.
The topic for discussion for this meeting is in reagrds to a new experiment proposal, one of the projects the higher-ups have been pushing aggressively.
It's technically routine, but something about the way the agenda is written makes my instincts prickle.
I notice one of the guardians in the room, supposedly here to be one of the head scientists personal security, though we all know they're really just here to ensure "compliance".
Their presence more intimidating than necessary. I can feel their eyes linger on Noah just a little too long, the way a predator watches its prey.
Noah remains perfectly composed, answering questions with precision, deflecting criticism with tact. Professionalism carved into every movement, every word. But I can see the subtle signals he doesn't broadcast, the slight tightening of his hands around his pen, the micro-shift in his posture as he positions himself just so in his chair.
"I heard you might be getting your hands on some Nexa," the man says, his voice smooth, almost casual, but there's an undercurrent of something sharp something possessive and demanding.
Noah doesn't flinch. He smiles politely, the kind of smile that doesn't give anything away. "Uhm, word sure does move quickly around here," he replies, calm, measured.
I can feel my jaw tighten. I know that smile. That's the one he uses when he's cornered, when he's protecting something he doesn't want to lose.
"So it is true then," the scientist continues, leaning forward slightly. "Let me cut straight to the chase, I want you to hand over the vials."
Noah's fingers curl around his pen, tapping the edge of his notebook in a rhythm, he's thinking, calculating his words carefully. He doesn't rise to the bait. "I'm afraid that's not possible," he says evenly. "Those samples are part of an ongoing experiment. They're… crucial to my work."
The other man's eyes narrow, and I notice the slight shift in his posture, just enough to make it clear he's used to getting what he wants. "Crucial, you say? I'm sure you understand, Noah, that Nexa is become increasingly rare to find."
Noah leans back in his chair, still calm, still professional, but I can see the faint tension in his shoulders. "I do," he says softly. "but i'm afraid I must still stand by my words, I can not give you the vials"
"You're being obstinate," the scientist says, tone sharper now, edged with threat. "You do realise that refusal could have… repercussions?"
Noah's expression doesn't change. He taps the pen against the notebook again, deliberate, precise. "I'm aware. However, my priority is the integrity of the research. The vials will stay in my lab, under my supervision. That's non-negotiable."
I notice the slight flare in the other man's nostrils, a sign he's irritated. Clearly he's not used to someone standing their ground like this and I catch his quick glance towards the guardian next to him
There's danger here, I can feel it, low and insistent in my chest, and my mind starts running through precautions. If anything happens, if this guardian crosses the line… I'll be ready. I have to be.
The guardian leans forward slightly, watching him like a hawk. Subtle, calculated.
Then comes the line that makes my chest tighten.
"We need to ensure compliance at all costs," the guardian says smoothly, almost casual, eyes flicking to Noah with a hint of something sharp beneath the politeness. "If anyone higher ups in the team requests something, it is in your best interest to provide"
Noah's gaze meets theirs and he responds without flinching. "I understand the importance of compliance," he says evenly, each word precise. "But my responsibility is to my research and the progression of GeneX. I will not hand over materials that are not officially allocated."
The guardian tilts their head slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of their lips, as if amused by his politeness. "You're walking a fine line, Noah.
You are still young, what twenty-one? Defiance isn't typically tolerated."
Noah doesn't blink. He leans back just enough to show he isn't intimidated, though I can see the subtle tension in his jaw. "I am aware of the risks," he says softly, almost conversational, "but my resources required for my experiment leave no room for compromise."
I feel my knuckles tighten. I need to stay calm. Let him handle it. But my pulse is sharp. The way the guardian's eyes flick between Noah and the scientist next to them, the way their hand rests lightly curled up as if ready to unleash some kind of power, all of it sets my instincts on fire.
The guardian leans back slightly, "No room for compromise, hmm? That's a bold stance."
The scientist cuts in, voice calm but edged with authority. "You must understand, just because you've become the face of this company through your father, it doesn't give you the right to dismiss my request."
I catch the flicker in the scientist's eyes, that tiny, almost imperceptible smirk that betrays a shared understanding with the guardian. The room feels smaller now, tighter, like the air itself has thickened. A low, insistent warning coils in my chest.
The guardian leans back, smirk still in place, but there's a sharp glint in their eyes now. My gut twists. I can feel the danger tightening around us like a wire.
Then, the guardian shifts their weight and makes a sudden move toward Noah's side of the table, hand forming something metallic. My instincts snap into action before my brain even processes it.
"Noah!" I hiss under my breath and, without thinking, I pull his chair back and step between him and the guardian. My arm moves on reflex, positioning myself in front of him, and I pull my gun out before aiming it at the guardians head in a instant.
The room freezes. The other scientists glance up, sensing the tension, but none of them move. Noah doesn't flinch. Even now, he's assessing the situation, weighing options, figuring out the safest way to handle this without anyone panicking.
The guardian freezes mid-step, surprised by my sudden interference. Their eyes flick to me, and for a fraction of a second, I see the irritation, the realisation that they underestimated me.
"Step back," I say evenly, but my voice carries the weight of warning. Not aggressive, just firm enough that it leaves no room for miscalculation.
"I suggest you reconsider your approach," Noah says calmly, voice smooth and measured. "There is no reason for physical escalation. Let's keep this professional."
The guardian hesitates, a flicker of doubt crossing their face. I can feel my own pulse racing, but I stay solid, grounded, a wall between Noah and the threat. My eyes stay locked on them, ready to react to any sudden move.
"Fine," the guardian mutters, stepping back, the metal object that was forming in his hand now vanished.
Noah exhales softly, the faintest hint of relief in his posture, though he remains composed, like nothing out of the ordinary happened. I, on the other hand, am still standing close, alert, scanning every movement, every subtle shift in the room.
The scientist rises from his chair, voice calm but carrying a hint of restrained irritation. "Well, I can't say I'm disappointed, Noah. But I suppose it's time we bring this meeting to a close."
He turns, motioning for the guardian to follow, and they exit together, leaving a quiet tension lingering in the room.
"You alright?" I ask quietly, sliding a little closer to him.
He glances at me, that calm, measured expression back in place. "Yes," he says simply. "I had it under control. Thank you for the… precaution."
I can't help the small, almost protective smile that crosses my face. "Always," I reply softly, my eyes lingering on him. "I've got your back."
And in that moment, I realise it doesn't matter how calm and untouchable Noah is. I'll always be ready to step in, to protect him, even if he never asks for it.