Asa
Three days is a long time to pretend a person doesn't exist. I’ve declined four calls from Mercer Holt today alone.
It’s nearly ten at night. The university is a hollow shell this late, the hallways of the mathematics building echoing with the rhythmic hum of the HVAC system and the distant, lonely squeak of a janitor’s cart.
I’m in my classroom, staring at a whiteboard covered in design theory equations that currently look like a foreign language.
I should be at home. I should be sleeping.
My phone buzzes on the lectern, vibrating against the wood with an aggressive, jarring rattle. I don’t pick it up. I know it’s him.
The door at the back of the lecture hall groans open. It’s a heavy sound, wood scraping against the frame, followed by a footfall that is too heavy and too deliberate to be a security guard. The air in the room shifts instantly.
I don't turn around. I keep my back to the room, my marker hovering an inch from the board. "Class is out, Jorak. You missed the lecture by about six hours."
"I’m not here for the math, Asa." His voice is a low vibration that hits me in the center of my chest. He’s closer than he was a second ago.
I finally turn, leaning my hip against the lectern.
He’s standing in the aisle, still wearing his field gear.
The tactical vest is gone, but the black fatigues are stained with the dust of whatever corrupted zone Mercer threw him into today.
He looks exhausted, his eyes dark and shadowed, but there’s a flicker of something volatile behind them.
Anger. Or maybe just the same desperate need that’s been chewing on my nerves for three days.
"Mercer’s been calling," I say, my voice sounding thinner than I want it to. "Four times today. You haven’t been in class. You haven’t answered, and I didn’t know if that was because you couldn’t or because they wouldn’t let you."
Jorak’s expression tightens, the volatile edge in his eyes shifting into something sharper. "Asa."
"No." I step away from the podium, my hand still gripping the marker hard enough that the plastic creaks. "Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that and expect it to fix anything. I’ve been sitting here for three days trying to pretend I’m not waiting for the ESA to decide they’re done letting you come back to me. "
"I wasn’t allowed out."
The words hit harder than I expect them to. My throat closes around the first response that tries to climb out of me, and for a second, all I can do is stare at him.
"That’s the point," I say, quieter now. "That’s exactly the point! They kept you away, didn’t they?
This is a test. All of it. The calls. The silence.
You missing class. Me sitting here until ten at night because I can’t go home and wait for someone to drag me out of my own space.
" My breath catches as humiliation spreads through me. "They’re trying to see what happens when we’re apart. "
Jorak crosses the space between us, not close enough to touch, but close enough that his scent hits me, black cedar and whiskey under dust and field smoke. "I know."
"You know?" A laugh breaks out of me, thin and awful. "Great. Wonderful. Then we’re both caught up."
"I know because I felt it too." His hand twitches at his side like he wants to reach for me and is forcing himself not to. "Every hour they kept me locked down, I could feel you pulling farther into yourself. I could feel you getting scared."
"Of course I was scared." The words come out too fast now, tripping over each other. "You were gone. I kept thinking this was the part where they take you somewhere I can’t follow, or they take me somewhere you can’t reach, and then what? I’m supposed to sit quietly and trust the same people who put you in a room with reinforced walls and called it safety? "
Jorak’s jaw flexes. "That’s why you have to stop making it easy for them."
I go still. "Easy?"
"Every missed call, every refusal, every time you make yourself look like a risk they can’t control, it gives Mercer a reason to escalate."
"I’m not refusing because I’m trying to be difficult.
" I shove a hand through my hair, the panic twisting hot and ugly beneath my ribs. "I’m refusing because every time his name shows up on my phone, I can feel the room they want to put me in. I can feel the glass. I can feel the tests. I can feel them turning this into paperwork before I’ve even had time to understand what’s happening to me. "
"I’m trying to keep you out of their reach," Jorak says, his voice roughening. "If they think you’re becoming unmanageable, they won’t just ask for tests anymore, Asa. They’ll take you. They’ll put you in a room and lock the door for your own good."
"For my own good?" I step toward him, my heart hammering against my ribs. "That’s what they said to you, isn’t it?
Every locked door, every sedative, every order.
For your own good. For the city. For safety.
" My voice cracks, and I hate it. "I can’t become another room people lock you inside, Jorak. I can’t be another reason they tell you to obey. "
A physical spark of Black Current jumps from his shoulder to the metal leg of a nearby desk, a tiny arc of violet-black lightning.
"I am the only thing standing between you and a laboratory," he growls, moving into my space until I have to tilt my head back to look at him. "I see what they do to the ones they find useful. I’ve lived it for twelve years. They don’t see a person, Asa. Every time you come closer to me, every time you stabilize a flare, you’re showing them exactly how high your value is.
And the higher the value, the tighter the leash. "
"Then stop making the leash smaller for them," I snap, shoving my hand against his chest. "Stop acting like the only way to protect me is to decide everything before I get a say. You don’t get to turn yourself into another wall between me and the world."
"You are mine," he says, and the word isn’t soft. It’s raw. It’s scared enough to sound like a claim. "You are the only quiet I’ve had in a decade. I will burn this city to the ground before I let them turn you into what they made me."
"Then stop treating me like I’m fragile!
" I shout, the sound of it bouncing off the empty seats. "I am the one holding you together. I am the one who keeps your skin from peeling off when the nodes fail. Stop pretending this is a one-way street where you’re the hero and I’m the victim.
I’m your Guide, Jorak. Start acting like you understand what that means. "
His hand flies up, catching my wrist. His grip is firm, not painful, but the heat of it is a brand.
For one terrible second, I think he’s going to argue again.
I think he’s going to tell me to stay back, stay safe, stay hidden.
Instead, his face changes. The fury doesn’t vanish, but it folds in on itself, cracking open around something that looks too much like grief.
"I know," he says, his voice rough enough to scrape. "I know you’re strong. I keep forgetting because every part of me was trained to see danger and put myself between it and the thing I can’t lose." Jorak’s thumb shifts against my wrist. "You’re not weak," he says. "You’re not a spare part. You’re not some fragile thing I get to hide because I’m afraid.
You’re the reason I can breathe again. You’re the reason I can stand in front of a node and not turn the whole street into ash. "
"Jorak..."
"No. Let me say it." He leans closer, his forehead nearly touching mine. "You’re not just my Omega. You’re not just my Guide. You’re Asa.
My Asa. And I keep trying to protect you like that means keeping you untouched, but maybe protecting you means remembering you’re strong enough to stand beside me. "
The anger in my chest falters and changes shape, turning into something hot and aching and impossible to hold. "That’s all I’ve been trying to tell you," I whisper.
"I know," he says. "I’m listening now, baby."
I look at his mouth, at the way his breathing has turned into a ragged, desperate sound, and the argument dies in my throat. It’s replaced by a hunger so sharp it feels like a physical wound.
I don't pull away. I lean in. I grab the front of his tactical shirt with my free hand and yank him down. It’s not a soft kiss. It’s a collision. It’s teeth and tongue and a desperate need to reclaim the territory we’ve both been denying ourselves for seventy-two hours.
Jorak groans into my mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through my entire body.
He lets go of my wrist only to wrap his arm around my waist, lifting me off my feet and slamming me back against the long, wooden desk at the front of the room.
My legs fly open instinctively, hooking around his hips as he crowds between them, his body a solid, crushing weight that finally, finally makes the world stop spinning.
"Asa," he gasps against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over my scent gland. "You're going to be the death of me. I swear it."
"Shut up," I whisper, my hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "Just shut up and fuck me, Jorak. Right here. Before I remember why I’m supposed to be mad at you."
He doesn't need to be told twice. His hands are everywhere, frantic and possessive.
He shoves my dress shirt up over my head, the fabric catching on my glasses until I rip them off and toss them onto the desk.
The world blurs into a haze of shadows and heat, which is fine.
I don't need to see. I can feel everything I need.
He’s unbuckling his belt, the metallic clink of the hardware loud in the silent room. I’m already reaching for my own fly, my fingers clumsy with urgency. I’m so wet I can feel the slick soaking into my underwear, the scent of pear and vanilla blooming in the air, sweet and heavy, calling to him.