The corridor outside Bibxy's hostel room was unnervingly quiet, as if the building itself was holding its breath. The air felt heavy with the weight of unspoken truths, and the faint rustle of leaves from outside barely broke the stillness. Inside, Bibxy sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her wrist. The mark beneath her skin was glowing faintly again, its light pressing against her sleeve like a trapped secret desperate to escape. She rubbed it absently, her heart already aching from the events of the last few days.
A knock came at the door — three deliberate taps, spaced apart. Her stomach knotted. "Who is it?" "It's me," Sleek's voice came, low, slightly strained. Bibxy hesitated, then crossed the room and opened the door. Sleek stood there in the dim hallway light, his face unreadable, his eyes darker than usual. "Can we talk?" he asked, his tone quiet but edged with something sharper. She nodded and stepped aside.
He walked in slowly, glancing around as though making sure they were alone before turning to face her. "What's wrong?" she asked, unsure where this was headed. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his eyes locked on hers. "Bibxy… why didn't you tell me everything? From the beginning?" Her breath caught. "Sleek—" "No," he interrupted, his voice firm. "Don't soften it. I needed to hear the truth from you, not from rumors… not from the pieces I've been trying to put together myself."
Guilt swept over her face. She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I wanted to," she said quietly. "I really did. But I didn't know how you'd take it. I didn't want to… break something between us before I even understood what was happening myself." Sleek's jaw tightened, but he took a slow breath and gestured toward her bed. "Sit. Let's do this properly."
She sat, pulling her knees up slightly, and he took a seat beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth radiating from him. Bibxy took a deep breath. "I'll tell you everything… every detail. No more holding back." Her voice trembled, but she pushed on. "In the library… something happened. A wall — it just opened for me, like it had been waiting. I walked through… and I saw it, Sleek. I saw you being killed by Josh. It was… it was brutal." Her voice cracked. "And then… I killed myself. I couldn't live in a world without you."
Sleek stared at her, stunned. For a moment, he didn't move, his eyes searching hers for some sign this was an exaggeration. But there was only pain and honesty there. "And this mark," she continued, glancing at her wrist, "it started after that. I don't even understand what it means yet. But it keeps getting brighter."
Sleek was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on her wrist. Then he spoke, his voice low. "I saw scorch marks where you were yesterday. I heard Soya talking to someone… about you fading." Bibxy's pulse spiked. "You what?" He didn't back down. "And there's something else." He extended his arm and pulled back his sleeve. Faint swirling lines of the same glow traced his skin.
Bibxy's eyes widened. "Sleek… it's the same…" He shook his head, his voice low but steady. "I don't care about any mark, Bibxy. I don't care what it means. I only care about you — nothing else. Do you understand me?" Her chest tightened at his words. "I promise you," Sleek went on, "I will be by your side through this. But you need to be strong too. We can't afford to fall apart."
Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, tears began to roll down her cheeks. She tried to look away, but Sleek reached up, his touch surprisingly gentle, and wiped the tears away with his thumb. That small act broke whatever barrier had been left between them. Bibxy leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him tightly, pressing her face into his shoulder. It wasn't just a hug — it was the kind you give someone you're terrified of losing, the kind that says don't you dare leave me.
"I love you, Sleek," she whispered into the fabric of his shirt, the words spilling out before she could think. He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on her. "I love you too, Bibxy,"
He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on her. "I love you too, Bibxy," he murmured back, his voice thick with sincerity. She pulled back just enough to see his face, searching it for any trace of doubt. There was none.
And in that moment, she leaned in, pressing her lips to his. The kiss was slow, unhurried, a careful tangle of fear, longing, and promise. When they finally broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. For the first time in days, Bibxy felt a small spark of safety — fragile, but real.
"Whatever's coming," Sleek said softly, "we face it together." She nodded. "Together." Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the window faintly. Somewhere in the shadows beyond the hostel walls, the night watched them in silence.
But their moment was short-lived. The door was still open from Sleek's entry, and suddenly Josh stood in the doorway, his chest heaving as if he'd run. His gaze flicked between them, tension sparking like static in the room. "What are you doing here?" Josh demanded, stepping in.
Sleek straightened, squaring his shoulders. "Trying to figure out why she's dying." Josh's eyes darkened. "You think you can help her? This is bigger than you." Bixy stepped between them, her hands raised. "Stop. Both of you. I'm right here!" The glow from her wrist suddenly flared, flooding the room with warm light. Sleek's hand pulsed in answer, and Josh froze, his expression shifting to something almost like fear.
Elyon's voice drifted from the doorway — calm, but heavy. "If she is to survive, you, Sleek, will have to choose. And soon."