It takes Keefe a minute to piece together.

Perhaps because it's not something tangible, but rather a sudden loss—that flowing, fumbling hum at the back of his mind–

–heart, breaking–

–he had grown so expertly to ignore, that blanket of inadequacy settling oh-so-easily over him from time to time; a fundamental part of him (which, yes, he loathed) just—gone.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Sencen?" Tiergan asks, cocking his head to the side. Keefe wouldn't swear it, but, for an instant, it almost looks as if the older elf is grinning down at him, in a somewhat knowing manner that dances gleefully across his features.

Keefe clears his throat, runs a distract hand down his face, fidgets. "Yeah. Yes, of course."

But Sophie is glancing at him and his senses are already over-flooding with concern. "Are you sure? You were spacing out," she pins him with a chastising yet warm stare as her fingers start trailing along his forehead, pushing back a few locks of blond hair in their attempt to probe for a fever.

Keefe knows, after years of her, that it's a human thing–

–so why is he holding his breath, and what is that flutter awakening within him–

–still, he's in awe of how much clearer it all is now that the focus of her attention has shifted: her feelings towards Fitz, they—where are they?

Inhale. Exhale.

Carefully.

Slowly.

He traces back through the last couple of sessions the three of them have had together, wonders if working so hard in order to retrieve those memories his mom hid away into the darkness, stole from him because he is useless either way, caused him to miss the more subtle signs that things were changing.

He was so used to (pretending) the fuzzy waves of emotion coming from Sophie whenever Fitz was around (didn't exist, meant something else). He's empty–

–complete–

–without them.

"Dude, you're letting her mess with The Hair," Fitz chuckles, if not a tad annoyed. "Even I am starting to get worried."

Sophie immediately snatches her hand back, blushes so furiously Keefe can't quite understand whose embarrassment he's feeling more.

He pats his head a few times, adjusts some strands just-so.

"Maybe we should call it a day."

"No!"

What if everything comes back, next time they do?

"I actually agree with Sophie," Tiergan settles the argument before it can even begin. "I promised Wylie we'd have dinner together with Prentice at the hideout, and I still have a couple of errands to run."

Sophie scowls. "As Tiergan," she edges, "or as Granite?"

"Both."

The curt answer doesn't appease her one bit, actually fuels her nerves; the murky, yellow crystal their mentor fetches from a deep pocket in his dark brown tunic and holds up to the faint light streaming in through the far-end windows of the Healing Center definitely doesn't help, either.

But Sophie has learned to pick her battles, so she sighs and nods a resigned goodbye as Tiergan glitters away.

A beat.

"Wow, Foster. Look at you! Just letting a member of the Collective leave all on his own on some shady, secret business, with no complaints? I'm—"

"I know," Fitz cuts in, smiling broad and bright for her only. "I'm amazed, too."

"—disappointed." Keefe finishes instead, pulling a face. Sophie mimics the expression, as if she's agreeing. "Where's that infamous gumption of yours gone?"

"I... have other things to think about, lately."

"More important than risking your life? We all know that's your favorite pastime."

Another beat.

Longer, this time.

Charged with a crackling tension.

"You can never take anything seriously, can you?"

"Uh?"

"Every single time I tell you something, you turn it into a joke. I'm getting tired of it, Keefe."

She sounds so–

–sad–

–defeated.

It stirs something deep within him, tangles it up in knots that press, press, press against his ribcage until it hurts to breathe.

"Whoa, Foster—back up. What?"

Sophie rubs circles over her temples, closes her eyes. Her emotions are an intricate web of heavy, choking coldness, and Keefe struggles to stay upright as they hit and fit, working their way right into that nook in his broken heart that has just been vacated.

But the bewilderment, the shame, the fear–

–because how does he fix this sudden thing he can't understand how he fractured–

–they are all his.

Even Fitz has the decency to look sheepish, to look away.

"Just... forget it."

"Hey—no," Keefe stops her as she starts to pull at the cord keeping her home crystal tight around her neck, fingers circling in a firm yet gentle manner around her wrist.

Her pulse spikes.

Keefe's eyes widen—and it would be downright comical, if this weren't such a significant moment (a revelation).

He gets it, now. Why it took him so long to notice–

–not only because he was purposefully avoiding that smoldering spot of sensitivity, that constant reminder that he wasn't enough for her–

–but because there's still a kindling there—if he really, finally pays attention—an ardor brewing and swelling to fill up that space in a way so similar yet so very different.

His breath hitches.

It's–

–and he's so awestruck, it gives Sophie the chance to vanish among particles of golden sunlight–

–for him.