The hospital hallway was quiet for once, flooded with golden light from the setting sun. He leaned on the railing outside Diagnostics, nursing a paper cup of stale coffee, watching as Thirteen paced through a call on the other side of the glass.

She laughed softly at something, head tilting, lips curling in that rare way that only happened when she wasn't guarded. He felt his chest ache in a way he hadn't expected — or wanted — to feel again.

He'd told himself he knew who he was. Being with men had made sense. It still did. It was safe, familiar... and yet, there she was. Thirteen. Unbothered, sharp-tongued, but weirdly kind when it counted. And he couldn't lie to himself anymore — he was drawn to her in a way that didn't fit into the neat categories he'd forced on himself to stay protected.

He thought he'd left attraction to women behind a long time ago. Not because it was wrong, but because it hadn't felt safe — not after that relationship. Not after being told he was 'too soft,' 'too uncertain,' 'not enough of a man.' He'd been trying to be sure of something ever since.

Thirteen caught his stare through the glass. Raised an eyebrow, amused. 'You look like you're about to confess a murder,' she said, walking out to join him.