Damien cackles violently as Livia tosses her slice of pizza, minus a generous bite, onto her metal tray. His joyous cries go completely silent at the sound of it causing a loud BONG! as it hits the tray. Tears fall lightly from his eyes as the laugher consumes him, his gut puffing in and out as he fights for air.

"The fuck is this," Livia grumbles as she chews laboriously. She picks up the brown MRE bag next to her, looking at the description of the meal on the back. She digs her fingers under her cheek, freeing a particularly hard bit trapped against her molar.

"It's not that bad," you giggle, delving into your third nibble off the pepperoni pizza.

"'It's all we have until the next supply drop,'" Livia mocks, her nose wrinkling at the words of the grunt working the mess hall. "Who was that? Steven? Fucking hate Steven."

Damien covers his mouth, now returning from the fit. He chews as he speaks. "What did he do?!"

"Gave me this!" Livia waggles her slab of bread and dusty meat in his face.

Damien explodes with wheezes and chortles, and you stomp your feet happily as you watch him writhe. You're trying to take your meal down as quickly as possible. It's not horrid, but there are many other things you would prefer.

"We don't even have rice! Rice, Damien! The staple food. Why do we not have rice? It's filling and it expands three times it's size! Every bag of rice we would have would make three bags! It's a great food to feed lots of people for a long time. And then Don just gives us this when everything runs out."

Damien shakes his head as he takes a small bite. "I'm not letting one of you make some shitty rice for me."

Livia straightens up, cocking her head. "Okay, Master Chef. How do you make your rice?"

Damien makes intense eye contact with Livia, finishing of his mouthful, swallowing it slowly. "Better than you."

Livia playfully cuffs his shoulder, and Damien squeals. He clamps his hunk of pizza between his teeth, leaving his hands free to batter her back with his fingertips. Livia pushes his hands away as she eats, forcing her smile down as she turns the other away, pretending to admire the ocean.

You wipe your hands off on your pants as you shove the last morsel between your lips. "How was guard duty?"

"Same as usual," Livia replies.

"Ooh, someone said they might have seen Hope." Damien widens his eyes, chewing excitedly. "No one found any trace of her though."

"Mirage," you suggest.

Damien nods. "Livia said you had to go see Don?"

"Oh, yeah. I, uh, decided to be his Advisor. We did lay down some ground rules, and I got the rule you wanted, Livia."

Livia smiles a tad, her gaze now wavering intently on the waves drifting and rolling in harmony. Her head still tilts a bit towards you, revealing her true focus.

"We'll finalize tomorrow during a meeting. But I feel okay."

"You'll be fine," Damien assures. "You got us to protect you." Damien leans back, grunting as gentle pops emit from his back. He rubs his hands over his face. "Better." He jerks his head back up, arms crossed at his chest. "Wanna go to the beach?"

. . .

"Y/N, you little fucker!"

You shriek in delight as Livia gets out of the baby waves crashing against the shore, flinging her black hair over her shoulder with a grand arc of seawater. She grabs onto your jacket and yanks you into the waves. The world briefly turns blurry as the water sweeps across your eyes. Livia's distorted head peers back, dark against the marmalade sky. A soft drone fills your ears before you push yourself out of the muffled underworld. You spit salt off your tongue.

You drag your arm through the swirling water, launching a spray against Livia's torso. Damien is ambling about nearby, a collection of seashells in his arms. Livia swats the side of your head before galloping out of the tide.

"Okay kids, I'm heading back." Livia cracks her knuckles before extending her hand out to you. You interlock hands, and she hauls you to your feet. She taps you on the chest. "If you're smoking later, let me know. I'll be up for a bit."

You grin to her before she waves to Damien and trots off. As the sound of sand shifting under her shoes fades away, you start to feel inclined to make your own trip back. "Damien!"

Damien looks up with glittering eyes, ecstatic with the treasures in his grasp.

"Gonna head back too! See you tomorrow!" You exchange waves before you start walking towards the Leviathan. The cooling breeze circulates around your head, funneling through the curves of your ears. A soft, alien whistle fills your head as the wind sings. Your fingers slip into your pocket, extracting your phone. You open up your messages, specifically the one leading you to Don. It is empty except for two messages:

Me:The nitro leak was repaired this morning. The Machinist gave me your number for future correspondence.

Don: Thank you. I will come by this afternoon to inspect.

Your tongue runs along the side of your cheek as your thumbs patter against the keyboard. Your finger shakes a bit as you prepare to send it.

Me: You still awake?

You tap send, watching as it floats up the screen, announcing its arrival. Somewhere aboard the ship coming into view sits a buzzing phone with a innocent, yet suggestive, message. And soon, warm hands will wrap around it-

Don:Yes. How was dinner?

Your heart races a bit as your fingers happily prance about the keyboard. You hoot suddenly as some of the sand below your unfocused feet moves, slightly throwing you off balance. You steady yourself before sending off your next bit of the conversation.

Me: Good. MREs were fine, but looking forward to the shipment.

Don: Agreed. We just have the pizzas left, unfortunately.

Me: Damn. Shipment is coming next week?

Don:Yes. But larger than the last one, so we should be set for awhile. Also sending out patrols to find any food stores that we haven't already gathered from.

Me: That's good. Also, after tomorrow's meeting about our personal agreement, we need to start planning patrols for the bunkers.

Don: Sounds good.

You walk up the main ramp into the ship, dodging groups of soldiers that are either on duty or lightly inebriated. Your brain thinks of a way to continue the conversation with Don, but nothing scuttles across your consciousness. You slip it back into your pocket as you clamber up the steel staircases, guiding yourself to your room...or maybe Don's.

A sudden buzz excites you.

Don: You doing anything for the rest of the night?

Me: Nope

Don: Do you want to stay in my room?

Me: Sure. Going to grab something from my room. Will be there in a couple of minutes.

Your gentle stride picks up the pace, and you rattle up the stairs before slipping quickly into your room. You grab a book off your nightstand before calming your nerves as you wander back out to the hallway. The venture to Don's is collected. You are his Advisor, nothing more. No one has to know what lovely things you do behind closed doors. You start nibbling on your lip as you sweep up to his doorway. You give it two timid knocks before Don answers.

Your vision, first enraptured by his face, is suddenly tugged down to his thighs. He is only wearing a black undershirt and black briefs. You force your gaze back up. "Sorry," you whisper. He wants to go slow.

Don chuckles. "No, it's okay. I don't mind you looking at me every now and then. Just not really sure about doing anything."

You grin before pushing through the doorway, but Don's arm wraps around your waist as he silently closes the door to his quarters. You cackle mischievously as he picks you up to his chest. Your arms wrap around his neck, placing your head close to his still exposed face.

"Hey," he mutters.

"Hey," you echo.

Don places a tender kiss on the end of your nose before sauntering over to the bed, placing you down. "What are you reading?" He returns to the other side of the room, settling down at his desk. One lamp dispenses the light in the room.

"Uh, not sure. It's a jacketless book I found in one of the abandoned buildings nearby. Haven't started it yet, either. It's called 'The Retina'. Sounds interesting."

Don nods as he turns his chair away from the desk, allowing himself to sit angled towards you. "I need to get back into reading."

"If I like this one, do you want to read it after me?"

"Sure." Don flips open a small journal, and he extracts a thick ballpoint pen out of a cup at the head of his desk. He starts to scrawl across the lined pages, his letters swopping and long.

"What are you writing?"

Don finishes the current sentence, giving it a strong period at the conclusion. "Journal entries. About what happened during the day. Just to have the whole saga of my reign chronicled."

You sit up in the bed, opening the cover of The Retina. You observe Don for a couple seconds, watching his nose scrunch and his knee shake. "Are you okay?"

Don looks up at you, his face lax. "Yeah. The nitro, uh, makes me say shit. Shit I don't mean but just comes out." Don gestures to the page. "And sometimes writing lets all the odd shit come out so I don't say it. Doesn't work all the time, though. And some days are worse than others."

You take down a long swallow. "Why do you keep using it if it hurts you?"

Don shakes his head, his scrunches becoming more frequent. His mouth twitches. "It's a risk I am willing to take. It has done so much for me. I feel like this is who I need to be. I just have to learn how to control the nitro, but I am getting closer each day. I just have to learn how to work with it."

A strong lump starts to ooze into your stomach. You set your novel down on Don's nightstand before removing your jacket and laying it on the bed. You get to your feet and pad over to Don. He gazes up at you as you wrap your arms around his neck, your mouth settled gently against his ear. He places a hand on the small of your back.

"You've already been you," you whisper calmly to him. You move a hand to his cheek, feeling his anxious movements grow calmer. He whimpers a tad before pushing his head into your chest. You run your fingers over his hair before kissing the crown of his head. "It's late. Do you want to go to sleep?"

Don nods, rubbing his face over your chest.

"Uh, it's okay if not, but may I sleep with you?"

Don bobs his head again before he pulls himself back, immediately ducking his face. He rubs a hand over his eyes and mouth before getting to his feet. "Yeah, you can." He groggily makes his way to the bed before settling down on the edge, his fingers sharply grabbing the mattress. You slip in behind him, laying down with your spine against the wall the bed rests against. Don lays down ahead of you, his back to you. He scoots himself backward, fitting his rear against your groin. His shoulders sit up near your face, and you rest your cheek on his skin, pooling with heat. You shift your knees up, spooning Don's knees with you own. Finally, you pull an arm around his sturdy waist, pulling him a couple millimeters closer.

"Um, if you don't wear pants when you sleep, and you're okay with it, you're welcome to take them off," Don says. "But only if you want to."

"Oh, yeah. I do want to." You sit up and rummage through the blankets and sheets, finding your belt. You unhook yourself from your canvas pants, pulling them off and tossing them to the cool floor. You flop back down beside Don, resuming your position and hugging him tighter.

"Thank you," Don whispers.

"For what?"

"Talking to me."

"Oh, of course."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."