Admission
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their cold, artificial glow making the medical wing feel even emptier than it was.
Jolyne hated it here.
Hated the sterile white walls.
Hated the way the air smelled of antiseptic and blood.
Hated the way Isabella lay still in that hospital bed, bandages wrapped tight around her torso, her normally sharp eyes closed.
Like she wasn't invincible.
Like she wasn't the same reckless, irritating, impossible woman Jolyne had gotten used to always being there.
And the worst part?
It was Jolyne's fault.
Because Isabella had thrown herself in front of an attack meant for her.
And now, Jolyne couldn't stop thinking about it.
Couldn't stop hearing Isabella's voice from earlier.
"...I wasn't going to let you die."
Jolyne clenched her fists.
She needed answers.
And she wasn't leaving this room until she got them.
Jolyne wasn't good at waiting.
She was even worse at sitting with emotions she didn't know how to deal with.
She should have been relieved that Isabella was still breathing.
That she wasn't—
Jolyne didn't finish that thought.
Instead, she exhaled sharply, arms crossed, foot tapping restlessly against the linoleum floor.
The fight had been over for hours.
But the adrenaline hadn't faded.
Because now, the real battle was in her head.
And Jolyne was losing.
A quiet groan broke the silence.
Jolyne immediately sat up.
Isabella's fingers twitched, her body shifting slightly against the stiff sheets.
Then, slowly—her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, she looked unfocused.
Then, her gaze landed on Jolyne.
And despite everything—despite the pain, the exhaustion, the injuries—
She smirked.
Jolyne's chest tightened.
Even now.
Even like this.
She was still Isabella.
"...Shit," Isabella muttered, her voice rough, raw. "Guess that means I'm not dead."
Jolyne let out a sharp exhale. "Yeah, no thanks to you."
Isabella chuckled weakly, shifting just enough to wince. "Not my best plan, huh?"
Jolyne's stomach twisted.
"No," she muttered. "It wasn't."
She let the words settle between them.
And Isabella must have felt the weight of them.
Because her smirk faltered.
And just like that, the humor was gone.
Jolyne swallowed, staring down at her hands before forcing herself to ask—
"...Why did you do it?"
The question hung in the air.
For a long moment, Isabella didn't answer.
She just looked at Jolyne.
And Jolyne looked right back.
Not backing down.
Not letting her dodge this.
Finally, Isabella exhaled, her voice quieter this time.
"...Because it's you."
Jolyne froze.
Her breath caught, her mind going completely blank.
Because Isabella wasn't just talking about the fight.
Wasn't just talking about saving her.
She was saying—
Jolyne was different.
She mattered.
To her.
And suddenly, the air between them felt thicker.
Heavier.
Jolyne's pulse raced.
She didn't know what to say.
Didn't know what to do with this.
Because she had known.
Somewhere, deep down, she had always known.
But hearing it out loud?
That was different.
That was real.
Jolyne licked her lips, her throat dry.
She wasn't even thinking about moving—**wasn't thinking at all—**but suddenly, she realized just how close they were.
Close enough that she could see the way Isabella's eyes softened just slightly.
Close enough that she could feel the warmth of her breath against her own lips.
She should have pulled back.
Should have said something—anything.
But then—Isabella shifted.
It was barely a movement.
Just a slight tilt of her head, a faint, barely-there exhale—
And their lips brushed.
Just for a second.
Just long enough for Jolyne's entire body to lock up.
Long enough for her heart to slam against her ribs.
Long enough for Isabella's smirk to disappear.
The world tilted.
And for the first time since this entire conversation started—Jolyne didn't know what to do.
Neither did Isabella.
Because for once, she wasn't smirking.
For once, she looked just as caught off guard.
For once, they were both trapped in the same moment.
Jolyne's fingers twitched against the sheets.
She could move.
Could lean in.
Could—
But then, the door creaked open.
And just like that, the spell broke.
Jolyne yanked herself back so fast it was almost embarrassing.
Isabella exhaled slowly, carefully, like she was recalibrating.
Neither of them said a word.
But they both knew.
This had just made everything a hundred times worse.
The nurse entered the room, checking Isabella's vitals, completely oblivious to the way the air in the room was still charged with something neither of them wanted to name.
Jolyne took the excuse to stand up, putting distance between them.
"I'll—uh—I'll come back later," she muttered, not looking at Isabella.
She didn't wait for an answer.
Didn't wait to see if Isabella would say anything else.
She just walked out.
Because if she stayed one second longer,
She wasn't sure what would happen.
That night, when Jolyne finally lay down in her bunk, she didn't sleep.
She just stared at the ceiling, unmoving, heart still racing.
Because no matter how hard she tried—
No matter how much she told herself to forget it—
She could still feel it.
That barely-there touch.
That half-second of something more.
That moment she couldn't take back.
And Jolyne?
Jolyne had no idea what the hell she was supposed to do now.