Page 19 of Nebula Hearts
I head for the door. Fast.
“Aris.”
I stop. Turn back. He’s watching me. Expression unreadable but his markings are definitely brighter now. Definitely gold instead of violet.
“We should eat before we head out. Attempt the repairs from maximum distance.”
“Right. Yes. Food. Distance. Repairs.” I nod too many times. “Meet you in the galley in twenty minutes.”
I flee.
Back in my quarters, I splash cold water on my face. Stare at myself in the small mirror.
“Professional,” I tell my reflection. “We’re being professional. Falling asleep on his shoulder was an accident caused by exhaustion. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re just two people trapped by circumstance, just trying to survive.”
My reflection doesn’t look convinced.
I change into clean clothes. Check my datapad.
Power status: sixty-five percent and dropping.
Christmas Eve. Two days left.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Time to see if distance can keep him stable.”
But I’m thinking about how solid his shoulder was. How warm. How his markings went calm and stable while I slept against him.
And I’m thinking that maybe distance isn’t what we need at all.
Maybe we need the exact opposite.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the galley. Both showered and changed. Both pretending the cargo bay thing didn’t happen. Both drinking terrible instant coffee and eating protein bars like this is a normal morning.
It’s deeply awkward.
“So,” I say finally. “Christmas Eve.”
“Yes.”
“Two days until the deadline.”
“Yes.”
“And we’re going to try working from two kilometers out.”
“That’s the plan.”
Silence. We both stare at our coffee.
“Tynrax.”
“Yes?”
“This morning. In the cargo bay. That was just exhaustion. We both needed sleep and the bay was closer and it doesn’t have to be weird.”
He looks at me. His markings flicker. “I know.”
“Good. Because we’re professionals and we have a job to do and we can’t let things get complicated.”
