The hangar should have been pristine. It was brand spanking new, for crying out loud. The metal walls gleamed under the bright overhead lights, the air still carrying that fresh-off-the-lot smell of new electronics and something vaguely citrusy. But here I was, Captain Luca, on my hands and knees, in a dimly lit corner, waging war against a stubborn, greasy stain that had the audacity to mar my damn floor. It was a dark, ugly blotch, mocking the otherwise flawless surface.

I attacked the stain with a scrub brush, my biceps burning, sweat beading on my forehead and dripping into my eyes, the tight fabric of my bodysuit sticking to my skin. The bristles scraped against the metal, a harsh sound that blended with the rhythmic hum of the ship's machinery and the string of curses escaping my lips. "Fucking grease monkey," I muttered, picturing Ryan's smug face and his usual trail of questionable substances. "You'd think one of these idiots would have the decency to clean up their own damn messes."

The stain, however, remained stubbornly unimpressed, a dark smudge refusing to yield. I switched tactics, dousing the area with a cleaning solution that smelled like ammonia and bad decisions. I scrubbed until my knuckles were raw, the once-white cleaning rag now a dingy gray.

I paused, leaning back on my heels, to examine my handiwork. The stain had faded, but it was still there, a faint shadow against the gleaming metal. "Son of a bitch," I hissed, grabbing a fresh rag. This stain was a personal affront, a violation of the sanctity of my ship. And I, Captain Luca, was not going to stand for it.

The bristles of the brush caught on a rough edge, jerking my hand. I swore under my breath, rubbing my knuckles before diving back in. The smell of cleaning fluid was starting to get to me, it was acrid and sharp.

Then the alarm blared.

***

The alarm blared, a shrill, piercing shriek that sliced through the rhythmic hum of the hangar. I froze, the scrub brush clattering to the floor, my heart leaping into my throat. Red lights pulsed, bathing the hangar in a sickening, bloody glow. "What the fuck now?" I muttered, scrambling for my communicator. "Bridge, report!" My voice sounded thin and reedy, even to my own ears. Each pulse of the red light felt like a hammer blow against my chest.

Ryan's voice, strained and tight, crackled through the communicator. "Uh... slight issue. Danny and I were, uh, running diagnostics on the reactor. Looks like it, uh, didn't like that."

"Didn't like it?" I barked, already halfway to the hangar exit, my boots pounding on the metal floor. "Ryan, the ship is screaming like a banshee." My mind conjured images of flames, explosions, the whole damn ship coming apart at the seams.

"Yeah, we kinda noticed that," Ryan replied, his attempt at nonchalance falling flat. "We're working on it." Working on it after they probably blew it to hell.

"Define 'working,'" I snapped, sprinting up the stairs and down the corridor. I nearly collided with Zoe, who was also headed toward the bridge, her expression surprisingly calm given the circumstances. "Shit, this is bad," I gasped, my lungs burning, my legs pumping.

By the time I burst onto the bridge, the tension was thick enough to choke on. The flashing red lights made the already cramped control room feel even more claustrophobic, turning everything into a disorienting, pulsing blur. Danny was hunched over a console, his fingers on the keyboard, sweat beading on his forehead. Ryan hovered beside him, his arms crossed, but his jaw was clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"What happened?" I demanded, my gaze darting between them. My hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into fists.

Danny didn't look up. "We were running diagnostics on the reactor's secondary systems," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper. "I thought it was isolated, but..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping.

"But it wasn't," Ryan finished for him, his voice tight. He wouldn't meet my eyes. Probably too busy blaming himself.

"It's not a reactor failure," Danny added quickly, glancing up at me, his eyes wide. "Just the alarm system. We're not in any actual danger."

Okay, good, not exploding. I took a shaky breath, but the relief was short-lived. "Then shut it off!" I yelled, the volume of my own voice surprising me.

"I'm trying!" Danny's voice cracked, his fingers fumbling over the keys. He looked like he was about to cry.

Zoe, who had reached the doorway, now leaned against the frame, her arms crossed, that cool, collected demeanor firmly in place. "So, this was your brilliant idea, huh?" she said, raising an eyebrow at Danny. "Scare the entire crew half to death for fun?" She didn't seem angry, just... disappointed. Like she was looking right through him.

Danny's fingers froze above the console. For a moment, he just stared at the keys, his face pale in the flashing red light. He looked utterly lost.

Zoe's expression softened, and she pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer. "Hey," she said quietly, her voice cutting through the noise. "It's okay. Just breathe and fix it, alright?" She rested a hand on his arm, a brief, reassuring touch.

I watched as Danny took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He nodded, his hands returning to the console, moving with more deliberation now. Ryan murmured something low and encouraging, his hand briefly resting on Danny's back. A moment later, the alarm cut out, leaving the bridge in blessed, ringing silence. The sudden quiet was almost as jarring as the noise.

"Finally," I muttered, pressing my fingers to my temples, trying to massage away the throbbing. "Next time you run diagnostics, triple-check your setup." Maybe I should run a diagnostic on their heads.

Danny nodded, still looking a little green around the gills. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Won't happen again." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Ryan clapped a hand on his shoulder, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hey, we figured it out. No harm, no foul, right?" He was trying to play it cool, but a faint tremor in his voice betrayed his lingering anxiety.

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I shot him a look. "Right—except for the part where I thought the ship was about to explode." My legs felt shaky, and I suddenly realized I was gripping the back of a chair so tightly my knuckles were white.

"Minor detail," Ryan said, with a weak chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

As the tension began to dissipate, Zoe moved closer to Danny, her voice low and calm. "Seriously, you're good. You fixed it. Now, go grab a drink or something before Luca starts hyperventilating again." The corner of her mouth twitched, a hint of a smile. She had this way of... diffusing things. Making everything seem manageable, even when it felt like the whole world was falling apart.

Danny managed a weak smile, and Zoe squeezed his arm before turning to me. "See? Crisis averted."

"Yeah," I said, letting out a long breath. "But let's try to keep the near-death experiences to a minimum, okay? My heart can't take this shit." I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the dampness of sweat.

I was suddenly exhausted. Bone-tired. "I need a drink," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. I turned and headed for the door, leaving the others in the now-silent, dimly lit control room, the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air - a stark reminder of how close we'd come to... something.

***

The lounge was a welcome change from the sterile, pulsating bridge. The soft glow of the electric fireplace cast long shadows on the worn, comfortable couches and the mismatched beanbag chairs scattered around the room. A few personal touches were evident - a faded poster of some vintage sci-fi movie, a small, scraggly plant that Zoe was determined to keep alive, and a collection of mismatched mugs that we'd each claimed as our own. The opening credits of Alien, Robocop, or Star Wars—take your pick, we've seen 'em all—played on the screen, the familiar soundtracks blending with the low murmur of conversation. We’d sprawl on the floor or couches, snacks passed around—tonight, it popcorn. It felt like we’d finally settled in, not just as a crew, but as something more. Something closer.

“Alright,” Emily announced, stretching out on the couch beside me, “who’s picking the next movie? And if anyone says Her again, I’m shoving them out the airlock,” she said. She really hated that movie, I could tell. As she stretched, her bare feet peeked out from under her loungewear, the toes wiggling slightly. Focus, Luca, you can do this.

Ryan, naturally, had to object. “It’s a good movie!” Still salty about that, apparently.

“No one’s debating that,” Zoe quipped, nudging him with her foot, “but maybe try picking something where people actually stay awake this time.” Classic Zoe, cutting right to the chase. They bickered like an old married couple, and I bit back a laugh.

I smirked from my spot on the couch, Emily's arm resting lightly against mine as she settled in. A faint warmth radiated from where we touched, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. I found myself studying the way a stray strand of her hair curled against her cheek, the gentle curve of her neck. I had to force myself to look away, my brain helpfully supplying a series of inappropriate images.

“Predator,” Joey declared, pointing at the screen. “We’re doing Predator. End of debate.” He was always so dramatic, that one.

“Finally, some taste,” Chris said from the pool table, where he and Danny were engaged in a surprisingly intense game.

I shook my head, my gaze drifting to Ryan. He was at it again, quietly pulling a loose panel off the side of the coffee table, his fingers tracing the wires underneath. Probably trying to distract himself from the fact that he was losing at pool - and losing to Danny, of all people.

“Ryan, for fucks sake, leave the table alone, would you?” I said, making sure to keep the exasperation in my voice. He was always doing that kind of shit, and it was hard to concentrate.

“It’s a reflex!” Ryan shot back defensively. “And it was loose anyway. I was fixing it.” He was always making excuses for his behavior, like a little kid caught stealing cookies. He had to be doing this shit on purpose.

“Right,” Zoe replied, rolling her eyes. “Because a loose table panel is such a priority.”

I found myself laughing more these days, even when Zoe’s jabs turned my way. But I noticed how she often paired off with Danny during pool matches, her competitive streak drawing out the quieter guy’s playful side. There was something magnetic about that relationship; they were really good together, and they made my stomach hurt in a good way.

“Nice shot,” Danny said after Zoe sank a tricky bank shot.

“Nice shot?” Ryan mocked from the sidelines. “She’s cleaning your clock, man. You’re one ball away from losing.” He was jealous, of course, Ryan was always jealous.

“I call it tactical retreat,” Danny said, shrugging as Zoe shot him a triumphant smirk. He clearly loved to make her happy. Damn.

The lounge wasn’t just a place to unwind; it was where we built trust, bond by bond. These evenings wove something deeper between us than mere friendship, that was for sure. I saw it in Emily’s quiet smiles, the way Zoe pulled Danny out of his shell, even Ryan’s begrudging teamwork when we needed him. It was like, we were all leveling up, and not in the way we had been back at Sandworth, more like we were all getting closer to something. And it was almost scary.

Emily, as always, remained a steady presence by my side. She had a way of looking at me when I spoke, her gaze unwavering, that made me feel like she actually cared about what I had to say, like I was the only person in the room. I wasn’t blind to the glances she threw my way, or the way her smile lingered just a second longer when she caught me looking back, and it made me so nervous, and also incredibly excited. She smelled like vanilla, and something else, something spicy and warm.

***

"You've been quiet tonight," Emily murmured, her voice barely a whisper above the end credits. It was like she'd slipped a scalpel under my skin, gentle but precise, laying bare whatever bullshit I was about to feed her. I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope. "What gave it away?"

I nodded, suddenly very aware of how close we were. Her green eyes locked onto mine, and my pulse went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. I could feel the tips of my ears burning, a blush creeping up my neck like an unwelcome rash. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her gaze holding mine like she could see straight into my brain. It felt like she could see every dumb fantasy I'd ever conjured about her—like that time I imagined us slow dancing to some cheesy song in the lounge, or how I pictured what it would be like to trace the delicate curve of her—shit, now was not the time.

I hesitated, glancing at the others. Zoe was leaning over the pool table, laughing as Danny flailed through some excuse about why he lost, and Ryan was loudly accusing them of hustling. At least someone’s having fun. I dragged my gaze back to Emily, my gut clenching like I'd just swallowed a handful of gravel. “About how… this feels like the calm before the storm, you know?”

My brain scrambled for an answer that wouldn't make me sound like a total idiot. That this trip was turning out so much tamer than I’d imagined. When we planned this whole thing, leaving the station, heading out into the unknown, I’d pictured something wild. A bunch of twenty-somethings, cooped up together for weeks on end? I thought it’d be chaos. Hormones flying, people sneaking off to hook up left and right—hell, I figured I’d have gotten laid by now.

But no. The crew’s been… weirdly mature. Even-keeled. Like we’re all holding back or something. And now here I was, overthinking everything, especially Emily. Should I make a move? Would she even want me to? What if I screwed it up? What if she said no, and things got awkward, and she didn’t want to talk to me anymore? Just the idea of screwing things up with her sent a hollow ache through my chest, like someone had carved out a piece of me with a rusty spoon—but I didn’t want to blow it. Not with her.

The corner of Emily's mouth quirked up, a hint of a smile softening the intensity in her eyes. She tilted her head, studying me like I was some rare specimen she was trying to decipher. “Then let’s enjoy it while it lasts,” she said, her voice warm but steady. Her hand brushed against mine, her fingers lingering for just a fraction of a second before pulling away.

When her fingers brushed mine, I flinched. It felt like I'd stuck my hand in an electrical socket, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert. Friends. That’s what we were—for now. Probably.