Page 29 of Nebula Hearts
They weren’t professional. They haven’t been for a while now.
“We should rest,” she says. Her voice sounds strange. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Yes. We should.”
Neither of us moves.
I’m still sitting. She’s still standing close enough that I could reach out and touch her if I wanted to. Her hand is still on my shoulder.
I should stand up. Should step back. Should put distance between us before I say something else I can’t take back.
But I can’t make myself move.
“Aris,” I say. Just her name. Nothing else.
“Yeah?”
I don’t know what I was going to say. The words are gone. There’s just her looking at me and me looking at her and something happening that I don’t have words for.
Finally I make myself stand. Make myself step back. The loss of contact is immediate and jarring. The static rushes in to fill the space she was occupying.
“Goodnight, Aris.”
Her first name. Not Doctor. Not Saavik. Saying it out loud feels significant. Like I’m claiming something I have no right to claim.
She doesn’t correct me.
“Goodnight.”
I walk out of the medical bay. Down the corridor. My quarters are at the far end. The distance feels longer than it should.
Inside, I sit on the edge of my bunk. The room is quiet except for the hum of life support. Standard ship sounds I usually don’t notice.
I should sleep. Need to sleep. Tomorrow we attempt the repair again and I need to be functional.
But I can’t shut my mind off. Can’t stop the static long enough to rest.
I lie back. Close my eyes. The darkness behind my eyelids isn’t peaceful. Just empty.
Without Aris close, everything is louder. Sharper. Harder to hold together.
I think about her in the cargo bay right now. Probably still researching. Looking for answers in those fragmented texts about anchoring and bonded pairs and pre-Suppression practices.
Looking for a way to fix what’s broken.
The solution isn’t rebuilding the walls. I know that now. The suppression is gone. Shattered past repair. Whatever I was before I touched that interface, I can’t go back to being that.
The solution is her. Has been from the start.
Physical contact. Sustained connection. Some kind of feedback loop I don’t understand but can feel working.
When she touches me, the chaos settles. When she’s close, I can think clearly. When she says my name, I find my way back to myself.
That’s anchoring. Has to be.
The texts don’t explain how it works. Just that it does. That bonded pairs could regulate each other. That connection could replace suppression.
The idea terrifies me more than the ruins did. More than going feral. Because it means surrendering control to someone else. Trusting her with the parts of me I’ve spent years learning to wall off.
