Sara stood frozen in the dimly lit room, her heart hammering like a runaway metronome. The folder labeled Subject D – Sara Duckling glowed on the screen like an accusation. Every click of the keyboard, every saved file, every recorded note—it all screamed betrayal.
She turned to Rhodes, eyes wide with disbelief and anger.
"You've been watching me," she said, voice low and shaking. "Studying me. Like I'm some kind of experiment."
Rhodes didn't move. He didn't deny it.
Instead, he looked at her with that same quiet intensity—the one that had drawn her in from the beginning. But now, it felt different. Smothering.
"I told you," he said slowly. "I wanted to understand you."
"Understanding doesn't mean collecting my entire life like data points!" she snapped, stepping back. Her body reacted instantly—a sharp head jerk, a throaty grunt, then another step back. "You went through my therapy notes. My medical records. My social media. You even have footage of me talking to myself!"
His jaw tightened. "It wasn't like that."
"It was exactly like that," she hissed. "What am I to you, Rhodes? Just another test subject?"
He flinched at the word.
"No," he said quickly. Too quickly. "You're not like the others."
She blinked rapidly, five times in three seconds. "Then what am I?"
He hesitated.
That was answer enough.
Her stomach twisted.
"You don't even know," she whispered. "Do you?"
---
A Fractured Trust
Sara stormed out of the hidden room, her tics intensifying with every step. She felt like a storm trapped inside a glass bottle—pressure building, ready to shatter.
Rhodes followed closely behind, trying to keep up but falling short as she moved faster.
"Sara, wait," he called after her.
She spun around, arms flailing. "No. No more waiting."
He stopped just a few feet away, hands raised slightly, palms open. It was a gesture of surrender, but she didn't see it that way.
She saw it as control. As manipulation.
"I thought this was real," she said, voice cracking. "I thought we were real."
"We are," he said firmly.
She let out a sharp laugh—half a hiccup, half a sob. "No, Rhodes. Real people don't stalk each other."
"I didn't stalk you," he said, frustration creeping into his tone. "I studied you because I saw something in you. Something I recognized."
"Oh, please," she spat. "Don't try to turn this into some poetic soulmate nonsense. That's not who we are."
His expression darkened. "Then who are we?"
She swallowed hard, blinking again—fast, furious. "I don't know anymore."
They stared at each other across the space between them, two albinos with Tourette's, both broken in their own ways, both standing on the edge of something they couldn't quite name.
And yet, for all the chaos between them, there was still something magnetic pulling them together.
---
The Confession
Rhodes took a slow step forward. His hand twitched, his neck jerking slightly to the right before he steadied himself.
"I never meant to hurt you," he said, voice lower now, almost pleading. "I just… I needed to know if I wasn't alone."
Sara narrowed her eyes. "You weren't."
He shook his head. "Not just in having Tourette's. In everything else. In the pain. The isolation. The fear that no one will ever really understand what it's like to live inside this head."
She blinked again—five times, fast and hard.
"I get it," she admitted. "I do. I've spent my whole life feeling like I was invisible. Or worse—like I was a burden."
He nodded. "So when I saw you… I thought maybe, just maybe, we could finally be seen."
She let out a shaky breath. "By turning me into data?"
He winced. "No. By understanding how our brains work. How our tics aren't just random—they're patterns. Music. Language."
She stared at him, stunned. "You think our tics are music?"
He stepped closer. "I know they are."
She shook her head. "That's insane."
"So are we," he said simply.
She let out a bitter laugh. "That's not comforting."
He reached out, hesitated, then placed a hand lightly on her arm.
She didn't pull away.
Instead, she closed her eyes, letting herself feel the warmth of his touch, the way it grounded her.
"I deleted the files," he said quietly. "After you found the room. I destroyed everything."
Her eyes flew open. "Why?"
"Because I realized something," he said. "You're not a subject. You're not a case study. You're Sara Duckling. And I care about you."
Her breath hitched.
"You barely know me," she whispered.
"I know enough," he said. "I know your tics match mine like a duet. I know you hide behind sarcasm to protect yourself. I know you laugh so people won't pity you. And I know that beneath all that, you're brilliant."
She blinked again—slow this time, almost dreamily.
"And I know," he continued, voice softening, "that I don't want to lose you."
---
The Kiss
Before she could respond, before she could stop herself, she leaned in.
And kissed him.
It was sudden, desperate, full of everything they hadn't said yet.
Rhodes stiffened for a moment, surprised, then kissed her back—deep and hungry, like he'd been holding onto this moment for years.
Their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt familiar, like two songs syncing perfectly.
Sara tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. He responded by wrapping one arm around her waist, anchoring her against him.
The world around them faded.
There was only the sound of their breathing, the gentle hum of the city outside, and the steady beat of their hearts.
Then—
A tic.
Sharp. Violent.
Rhodes' head jerked sideways, breaking the kiss. He let out a guttural noise, then blinked rapidly, struggling to regain composure.
Sara pulled back, chest rising and falling.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, despite everything, she laughed.
He blinked at her. "What?"
She grinned. "Even our kisses come with interruptions."
He exhaled, shaking his head. "We're a mess."
"A beautiful mess," she corrected.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah."
She touched his face gently. "You're still a creep for collecting my data."
He grimaced. "Fair."
"But…" she added, leaning in again. "You're my creep."
He kissed her again, slower this time. Deeper.
And for once, neither of them tried to run.
---
The Aftermath
Later, they sat side by side on the floor, backs against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them.
The silence between them was comfortable now.
Sara rested her head on his shoulder, letting the weight of the moment settle over her.
"I should've told you sooner," Rhodes said suddenly.
She lifted her head. "Told me what?"
"About the project," he said. "About why I started recording people like us."
She frowned. "You said it was to understand Tourette's."
He nodded. "At first. But then… it became something else."
She waited.
He exhaled. "I lost someone. Someone very important to me. She had Tourette's too. We were part of the same research program."
Sara's stomach dropped.
"She died," he continued, voice barely above a whisper. "They pushed too far. Tried experimental treatments. Said it would 'normalize' her brain activity."
Sara's fingers curled into fists. "That's disgusting."
He nodded. "I ran after that. Disappeared. Changed my name. Stopped playing concerts. Started collecting sounds—trying to prove that people like us weren't broken. That we were music."
She looked at him, heart aching.
"You think you can fix what happened to her?" she asked softly.
He shook his head. "No. But maybe I can prevent it from happening to anyone else."
She blinked slowly. "Including me?"
His gaze softened. "Especially you."
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, closing her eyes.
"I don't need fixing," she murmured.
"I know," he said. "You're perfect."
She snorted. "You're biased."
He chuckled. "Maybe."
They sat in silence for a while longer, the weight of everything settling between them.
Then she said, "You still owe me an apology."
He glanced at her. "For what?"
"For being a creepy stalker."
He smirked. "Fine. I'm sorry."
She blinked rapidly. "Good."
He leaned in. "But I'm not sorry for kissing you."
She grinned. "Neither am I."