Anis

The Commander’s office was aglow with the warm hush of evening, the golden light casting long shadows against the walls. The battle was over, their reports were filed, and now, in this pocket of time untouched by war, the Counters Squad found themselves gathered around a modest feast of snacks and drinks—a rare moment of ease after another grueling day on the surface. The air still carried the lingering electricity of combat, but laughter and the gentle clinking of soda cans had gradually dulled its edges into something softer.

Neon had been the first to go, bouncing out of the office with a cheerful wave, her energy seemingly inexhaustible despite the day’s hardships. That left only Rapi and Anis beside the Commander, the three of them basking in the rare peace. And then, the real entertainment had begun.

Rapi had lingered, fingers twitching at her side, her usual composed demeanor unraveling thread by thread as she hesitated, then steeled herself, then hesitated again. Anis had watched with a mix of amusement and something else—something heavier—curled deep within her chest. Rapi, ever the soldier, ever the one who acted with precision and purpose, was fumbling.

It had been painfully, heart-wrenchingly adorable.

"Commander," Rapi had begun, her voice just a little too steady, her shoulders squared as though she were preparing for battle. "I—"

A pause. A sharp inhale. A flicker of uncertainty in her crimson eyes.

Anis had leaned back in her chair, pressing a soda can against her lips just to hide the knowing smirk that threatened to curl at the corners.

"I—appreciate your leadership," Rapi had continued, her voice suddenly stiff, too formal, as though she’d abandoned whatever reckless sentiment had first formed on her tongue. But then, before the Commander could even respond, she’d snapped to attention, cheeks darkening with the faintest flush of color. "But really, Commander, your strategy today was inexcusable!"

The pivot had been so abrupt, Anis had almost choked on her drink.

"You were reckless!" Rapi had scolded, her voice sharp enough to cut through the lazy atmosphere, her arms crossing tightly over her chest. "Charging into enemy fire like that without backup? Do you have any idea how idiotic that was? We are not here to play hero. We’re here to win."

The lecture had continued for a good minute—her words crisp and cutting, but not quite able to disguise the way her voice wavered at the end, the way her fingers fidgeted at the hem of her gloves. A cover-up. A desperate one. And yet, the Commander had simply endured it with an understanding that made Anis want to laugh and groan at the same time.

It was painfully obvious how much Rapi cared. How much she wanted to say something else entirely.

And oh, how they suited each other.

Anis had taken another sip of soda to wash down the strange lump in her throat, pretending she wasn’t watching the way Rapi’s entire being seemed to glow with some unspoken devotion. They’re perfect together, she’d thought, the notion settling over her like a blanket both comforting and suffocating. He’s the only one who can fluster her like this. She’s the only one who makes him stand up a little straighter, fight a little harder.

And yet, despite that rational acceptance—despite the knowledge that Rapi had always been the one with the bigger, bolder crush—Anis couldn’t silence the quiet, gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach. Because no matter how much she buried it, no matter how much she laughed it off, she wanted that, too. Wanted to be seen the way Rapi was seen. Wanted to be the one who made the Commander falter, to be the reason behind a flustered glance or a hesitant smile.

But that wasn’t her role. It never had been.

So when Rapi had huffed her final warning—something about how next time, if the Commander tried to pull a stunt like that, she’d personally knock some sense into him—and all but fled from the office in a storm of flustered frustration, Anis had done what she did best. She had laughed.

And now, she was the last one left.

The silence that followed was almost too loud, stretching between her and the Commander like a lingering echo of what had just transpired. A dozen unsaid things swirled in the air, but Anis, ever the master of pretending, only leaned back in her chair with a languid stretch, letting her head loll to the side as she gave an exaggerated sigh.

She raised a nearly empty soda can, twirling it between her fingers, before flashing a lazy grin.

"Well, well, well. Somebody sure made an impression tonight," she teased, her voice carrying its usual lilt of mischief, though the humor didn’t quite reach the depths of her golden eyes. "Rapi was this close to confessing, y’know. If only you’d played your cards right, you could’ve had yourself a real love story unfolding right here in this office."

She tapped her fingers against the aluminum, letting the rhythm fill the pause before she feigned a small, dramatic sigh.

"But alas, here we are instead. Just you, me, and a whole lotta empty soda cans." She slumped forward onto the desk, cradling the can as though it were something stronger, something worth getting drunk on. "And y’know, Commander, I think I might be a little tipsy."

Of course, it was a lie—there was nothing but sugar and carbonation in her veins—but she liked the excuse. Liked the way it gave her permission to let her words wander a little closer to the edge of truth.

Her gaze flickered up toward him, half-lidded and unreadable, her usual smirk softening into something almost wistful.

"Crazy, isn’t it? How people can be so strong on the battlefield but turn into absolute messes when it comes to love." She laughed, quiet and breathy. "Not that I’d know anything about that, of course."

She tilted her head, studying him in the dim glow of the office.

"If I were drunk, though… maybe I’d say something stupid. Maybe I’d ask you if you ever thought about things like that—love, romance, the whole happily-ever-after deal."

She spun the can one last time before setting it down with a soft clink, her fingers lingering against the cool metal.

"But lucky for you, I’m definitely not drunk," she murmured, letting her usual grin return, though this time, it felt just a little more fragile. "So I guess you’ll never know what I might’ve said."

And with that, she let the moment pass, slipping comfortably back into the role of the teasing rogue—pretending, as she always did, that her heart wasn’t quietly aching for something she had already convinced herself she could never have.