Nova's legs tensed beneath the table. His stomach lurched as sweat drenching his clothes ever so slowly. He needed to do something, he needed to move now!
His chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, his movements abrupt and reckless.
All eyes turned to him, but he didn't care. He didn't look back.
He stormed out of the room, past the hall, past the endless stares boring into his back. His vision tunneled, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
By the time he reached his room, his hands were shaking so violently he could barely turn the handle.
He pushed inside, slammed the door behind him and then everything collapsed.
His body folded over the sink as nausea ripped through him. His stomach clenched painfully, something bile was rising in his throat.
COUGH. COUGH.
He heaved, coughed, choked, but nothing came up.
Just emptiness.
He gripped the counter, his knuckles turning white, his fingers cramping from the force. His breath was uneven and ragged.
The room was spinning.
The walls were closing in.
His chest felt tight, too tight, too suffocating to breathe.
The memory of death clung to him, refusing to let go.
"I was dead. I was dead …I was dead."
The words pounded in his skull like a war drum.
After he woke up, the feeling of emptiness has just been apparent all this time. He had been acting calmly, masking this feeling, covering his true emotions with his remarks and jokes.
But what if this wasn't real? What if he was still lying in that factory, his body cold and lifeless? What if this was all some kind of afterlife, a cruel joke from whatever force had ripped him away from death?
He staggered backward, pressing a trembling hand to his chest, expecting… NO… wanting to feel the wound.
The hole. The proof that he was supposed to be dead.
But there was nothing.
Nothing.
His breaths turned to gasps. His vision blurred.
His mind screamed at him, that he shouldn't be here. As his trembling legs gave out.
Nova collapsed to the floor, his back against the wall, his fingers clutching his own arms as if trying to hold himself together.
He shut his eyes, head tilting back, forcing air into his lungs.
Minutes passed, but he wasn't sure how long. His body felt hollow, his thoughts an unrecognizable mess.
He was alive.
But he had died.
And that was a truth he couldn't run from.
…..
A sharp knock broke the silence of the room.
Nova barely reacted.
He was still on the floor, his back pressed against the cold wall, his breath uneven. His limbs felt heavy, useless, like his body wasn't even his anymore.
The echoes of his own death still clawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to let go.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he ignored it, they'd go away.
Another set of knocks sounded, firmer this time and a voice followed, muffled but unmistakably female.
"Nova. Open up."
Nova's fingers twitched.
She knocked again, more insistent. "I know you're in there."
He forced himself to sit up, running a hand through his damp hair.
"I'm fine," he called out, his voice hoarse. "Go away."
Silence.
For a second, he thought she'd actually left.
Then, her voice softened. "Liar."
His stomach clenched.
She didn't say it with anger or frustration. Just quiet certainty, like she could hear the cracks in his voice, see through the walls he was trying to build.
Nova dragged a hand down his face. He didn't want to deal with this.
Not now. Not when he still felt like he was dangling on the edge of something he couldn't understand.
"I just want to be alone," he muttered.
"I know," she replied, her tone softer then turned to whisper. "But I want to be alone with you."
Nova clenched his jaw.
Another silence stretched between them.
Then her voice sounded again, "I heard what happened in the meeting …I saw you leave."
His fingers curled into fists.
Of course she did. The whole damn syndicate probably noticed how he stormed out like some shaken kid.
Pathetic.
He inhaled sharply, willing his voice to sound normal. "And?"
She sighed. "And I'm not leaving."
Nova let out a breath, long and tired. His exhaustion won as he barely registered himself unlocking the door, pulling it open just enough for her to see him.
Click.
Sophia Montagua stood there, arms crossed, a knowing look in her dark eyes.
Black hair cascaded down her back, slightly tousled from the night air. Unlike the fancy suits in the meeting, she wore a simple oversized sweater and jeans that shows her effortless beauty.
Nova parted his lips to speak but stopped himself. He wasn't sure of what to say.
Sophia took one look at his face and all traces of amusement faded.
Sweat clinging to his skin. His usually sharp eyes unfocused, pupils blown wide. Hands trembling at his sides, gripping the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping him standing.
Sophia exhaled softly, stepping forward before he could stop her.
She didn't ask anything. Didn't demand an explanation.
She just walked past him, closed the door behind her, and sat on his bed like she'd done it a hundred times before.
"You look like shit," she finally said, her voice quiet.
Nova let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Thanks."
Sophia didn't smile. Instead, she took his wrist gently, but firmly, and pulled him to sit next to her on the bed.
Nova let her. He didn't have the strength to fight it.
He sat there, staring at the floor, trying to pull himself together.
Sophia sat beside him, not saying a word.
She didn't ask him what was wrong. She didn't press him for details.
She just stayed, waited.
Nova swallowed hard.
He had no words for what he was feeling. No way to explain the weight pressing down on his chest. The fear that, if he closed his eyes for too long, he might just disappear again.
But somehow… Sophia understood and for some reason, that was enough.
After what felt like hours, Nova finally let out a slow breath, tilting his head slightly to her.
"…You're annoying, you know that?"
Sophia smirked, noticing Nova's head resting on her shoulder, his eyes dozing off. "And yet, you let me stay."
Nova scoffed but didn't argue.
Maybe, just for tonight, he didn't mind.