Finn watched them from across the market corridor and felt the familiar ache settle into their chest like an old friend.
Jax and Elara moved through the vendor stalls together, her hand in his, stopping to talk with residents. They looked good together—Jax's rough edges softened by her presence, Elara's polish worn down to something more real. They laughed at something a vegetable vendor said, and the sound carried across the crowded space.
Two years. Two years of watching this, of smiling and pretending it didn't hurt.
"Pathetic," Finn muttered to themselves, turning away. They had work to do. Inventory to check, shipments to organize. No time to stand around nursing impossible feelings for their best friend.
They headed deeper into the storage sections, the less populated areas where they could breathe without the weight of pretending. The rain followed them, dripping through gaps in the overhead pipes, creating puddles that reflected the dim lighting. Finn splashed through them without caring, their layered coats already soaked.
The supply room was quiet, shelves stocked with goods from their black-market network. Finn ran the numbers in their head, checking inventory against expected demand. It was meditative, this work. Numbers didn't lie. Numbers didn't make promises they couldn't keep. Numbers didn't fall in love with other people and leave you behind.
"You're being dramatic," they told themselves aloud. "Jax didn't leave you behind. He's your friend. He's happy. That's good."
The words rang hollow in the empty room.
The thing was, Finn had never told Jax how they felt. Never planned to. What would be the point? They'd known each other since they were kids scraping by in the worst sections of Level 9. Jax had never looked at them that way. And even if he had, Finn wouldn't have risked the friendship. It was the most valuable thing they had.
Then Elara Frost had appeared two years ago, claiming to be a Beta fugitive, and Finn had watched Jax fall. Watched him look at her the way Finn had always wanted to be looked at. Watched him open up, let her in, trust her in ways he'd never trusted anyone.
And Finn had smiled and welcomed her, because that's what friends did.
They pulled out a bottle from their private stash—real alcohol, not the cheap synthesized crap—and took a long drink. The burn felt good. Real.
"Finn?"
They nearly dropped the bottle. Turned to find Jax standing in the doorway, concern on his face.
"Inventory," Finn said, gesturing at the shelves. "Making sure we're stocked."
"At this hour?" Jax stepped inside, water dripping from his jacket. "It's past midnight, friend."
"Couldn't sleep."
"Yeah. Me neither." Jax spotted the bottle. "That the good stuff from Level 6?"
"Yeah."
"Can I?" He gestured. Finn handed it over, watched him take a drink and wince.
"Strong," Jax said.
"That's the point."
They stood in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. This was good. This was what they had—comfortable silence, shared drinks, friendship. Finn could live with that. Had lived with it for two years.
"Elara's worried about you," Jax said eventually.
"Why?"
"Says you've been distant. Working too much, avoiding people." He studied Finn with those too-perceptive eyes. "She thinks something's bothering you."
Of course Elara had noticed. The woman was too damn observant. Another thing to resent about her—she was perfect for Jax. Smart, caring, dedicated to the Free Level. Everything Finn wasn't.
"I'm fine," Finn said. "Just keeping busy."
"You've been keeping busy for two years."
"So? Lots to do."
Jax took another drink, slower this time. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. We've been through too much together for secrets."
The irony of that, coming from Jax who was sleeping with a woman clearly hiding something major, would have been funny if it didn't hurt.
"Nothing to talk about," Finn said. "I'm good."
"Finn."
"What?"
"I'm not stupid." Jax's voice was gentle, which made it worse. "I see you watching us. I see you leave whenever she shows up. I see you throwing yourself into work like you're trying to forget something."
Finn's throat tightened. This was the conversation they'd been avoiding for two years. The one they never wanted to have.
"Let it go, Jax."
"Why?" He moved closer. "We're friends. Best friends. If something's wrong—"
"Nothing's wrong!" The words came out sharper than intended. Finn took a breath, steadied themselves. "I'm happy for you. You and Elara. You're good together. That's what I see when I watch you. That's all."
Jax was quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully: "You're in love with me."
Finn laughed, tried to make it sound natural. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Finn."
"What do you want me to say?" They couldn't look at him. Stared at the floor instead, at the puddles reflecting broken light. "Yeah. Okay. Yeah. I am. Have been for years. Happy now?"
"I didn't know."
"You weren't supposed to know. Nobody was." Finn grabbed the bottle back, took a long drink. "It's fine. I'm dealing with it."
"That's not dealing with it. That's suffering in silence."
"Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do?" Finn's voice cracked. "Tell you and ruin the friendship? Make it weird between us? Watch you look at me with pity every day? No thanks."
"Finn—"
"I'm fine, Jax. I will be fine. I just need..." They didn't know how to finish that sentence. What did they need? For Jax to somehow love them back? For Elara to disappear? For their heart to stop wanting impossible things?
"I'm sorry," Jax said quietly.
"Don't. Don't apologize for being happy. Don't apologize for falling in love with someone else. That's not your fault." Finn finally looked at him. "You deserve to be happy. After everything, you deserve that. And Elara makes you happy. I can see it. So I'm glad. Really."
And the terrible thing was, part of it was true. Part of Finn really was glad that Jax had found something good. The rest was just pain and longing and learning to live with both.
"You're one of the best people I know," Jax said. "You deserve to be happy too."
"Yeah, well. We don't always get what we deserve." Finn managed a crooked smile. "Sometimes we just get what we get, and we make the best of it."
"Is that what you're doing? Making the best of it?"
"Trying to." They took the bottle back, looked at it rather than at Jax. "Look, I'll be fine. Just need some time. Some space. It's not about you or Elara. It's about me figuring my shit out."
"Okay." Jax didn't sound convinced, but he let it go. "But Finn? I need you to know—you're family. Whatever else happens, whatever changes, that doesn't. You're my family."
The words were meant to comfort. They just made it harder.
"Yeah," Finn said. "You too."
Jax left eventually, back to Elara and their warm bed and their uncomplicated happiness. Finn stayed in the storage room, drinking alone, trying not to think about all the things they'd never have.
The rain drummed overhead. It sounded like mockery.
Finn had made a life out of stealing things—goods, credits, information. They could slip through any security, bypass any lock, take whatever they wanted from whoever had it. But they couldn't steal love. Couldn't take what was freely given to someone else.
So they'd watch. They'd smile. They'd be the best friend, the loyal companion, the one who stayed when everyone else left. They'd take the small pieces of Jax's life they were allowed to have and pretend it was enough.
And maybe, someday, it would stop hurting.
Maybe.
They drank until the bottle was empty, until the numbers stopped making sense, until they could barely remember why they'd started. Then they curled up in the corner of the storage room on a pile of salvaged blankets and let the sound of rain pull them into dreamless sleep.
In the morning, they'd put their masks back on. Smile at Jax and Elara. Do their work. Survive another day of wanting what they couldn't have.
But for tonight, alone in the dark, they let themselves break just a little.
Just enough to keep going.
When Finn woke hours later, head pounding and mouth dry, someone had covered them with a clean blanket. A bottle of water and headache meds sat beside them with a note in Elara's handwriting:
"We're here if you need us. —E"
Finn crumpled the note, pressed it against their chest, and tried not to cry.
Even Elara's kindness hurt.
Especially Elara's kindness.
They got up, splashed water on their face, swallowed the meds. Put on their multiple coats like armor. Stepped back out into the wet corridors of the Free Level.
Time to pretend again.
Time to be fine.
The rain fell, and Finn walked through it, carrying their secret like all the other salvage they'd collected over the years—broken things that nobody wanted, kept anyway because throwing them away felt like admitting defeat.
And Finn never admitted defeat.
Even when their heart was splitting down the middle.
Even then.