Andersson entered the lounge at the rear of the ship just as the last sliver of sunlight was beginning to vanish beneath the horizon. The twin suns had dipped low enough to cast a burnished glow through the wide window behind the bar—a wide, reinforced pane shaped to follow the natural curve of the SR1's hull. From this angle, Thedas looked like it was holding its breath. The stars beyond it had just begun to blink awake.

The refit had transformed the space. The original bar had been perfectly functional for a vessel like this—clean, compact, efficient. But now? Now it had been dialed up to ten. In its place stood something warmer, deeper. The new lounge had the quiet gravity of a place meant for reflection, or confession. Amber lights dotted the curved ceiling like constellations caught mid-bloom, embedded in the walls in shallow, elliptical recesses that gave the impression of soft, rhythmic breathing. The ceiling itself curved down into the aft bulkhead, framing the bar like the arc of a rising moon.

It wasn't big—couldn't be, given the Pathfinder's size—but it felt intentional. Like whoever designed it hadn't just thought about functionality, but mood. Tone. The velvet-burnished couches lining the edges were the color of autumn rust, and looked like they had been designed less for meetings and more for memories.

Three stools now lined the front of the bar—tall, simple, and lightly padded in the same rusted orange as the couches. Andersson hadn't noticed them during the initial tour, but now they stood out against the sleek, dark counter like punctuation marks.

Every surface glowed with a gentle matte finish, warm and low-lit, like it had been built not for daylight, but for twilight.

Reece was already behind the bar when Andersson stepped inside, his sleeves pushed up, hands moving deftly as he rummaged through newly organized shelves. He moved like he belonged there—checking bottles, popping lids one by one and giving each a quick sniff—evaluating contents with the nose of someone who had opinions. He barely looked up, his attention fixed on the inventory.

Andersson stepped further into the lounge, letting his gaze sweep the space. "Okay, wow," he said quietly. "I know I saw it earlier, but I didn't really take it all in."

Reece finally glanced up, a grin flickering at the edge of his mouth. "Right? Now that it's darker outside, it kind of glows. I like it. Very chic."

Andersson huffed a quiet laugh as he stepped closer. "I never thought I'd use the word 'chic' to describe an Alliance vessel."

Reece shrugged, reaching for a set of glasses. "I don't think she's an Alliance vessel anymore."

That landed harder than Andersson expected. He paused, eyes drifting toward the wide aft viewport where dusk pooled like ink against the stars. Reece was probably right. The Pathfinder wasn't what she'd been when they left Earth. Neither was he.

And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

Andersson leaned one elbow on the bar, watching as Reece checked the label of another bottle.

"What are you doing?" Andersson asked, amused.

"Checking out our newly stocked bar," Reece replied, not looking up. "The Thedans have some… interesting liquor offerings. Some of these smell like they were brewed in tree roots and bottled in ambition."

Andersson smirked, easing down onto one of the bar stools. "I have to say, you look at home back there."

Reece grinned, eyes flicking up as he wiped down the counter. "Hey, I was a bartender before I was a pilot. This is my domain."

He dropped into a voice that was all velvet and mischief. "What'll ya have, handsome?" He winked, clearly enjoying himself.

Andersson shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "What do you recommend, bartender?"

"First of all?" Reece said, snapping his fingers and pointing to the ceiling. "Some music."

He raised his voice slightly. "EDI, play something. Something… sexy. And then give us some privacy."

There was a beat—then a soft hum of music filled the lounge, something old and soulful.

"Privacy mode enabled in the ship's lounge," EDI's voice intoned, just before vanishing into the ambient hush.

Reece gave Andersson a satisfied nod and turned back to the bar, already reaching for two glasses.

Reece reached beneath the bar and began pulling bottles into view, lining them up like a sommelier at a very eclectic tasting.

"So," he said, ticking items off on his fingers, "we've got a bottle of gin, a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of vodka, and half a bottle of tequila. A couple of liqueurs. That's what survived the journey from Earth."

He ducked down again and came up holding two more. "Plus the two bottles of tequila I brought with me—personal stash."

He gestured to the row of vividly colored bottles behind him—alien, unfamiliar, unapologetically bright. "And then we've got all this."

Andersson gave the rainbow array a skeptical glance. "Let's save the tequila for a special occasion."

Reece raised an eyebrow. "This isn't a special occasion?"

"You know what I mean."

Reece chuckled, mock wounded. "Right. No shots and dancing all night for us."

"You're the pro," Andersson said, settling more comfortably into his seat. "Why don't you come up with an Earth-Thedan fusion?"

Reece's grin widened. "That could be fun. Alright, I've got some ideas."

He turned back to the bottles, hands already moving with the quiet confidence of someone back in his element.

Reece set down two sturdy long glasses on the bar—thick-walled, square-edged, almost architectural. They looked like they belonged in a sci-fi film or a high-end boutique, not on a retrofitted military vessel. He filled them with what appeared to be ice, but the cubes steamed faintly where they met the glass, casting a soft glow like embers cooled just enough to hold.

"Bourbon," Reece said with a decisive nod. "Yes. That's a good base." He poured a generous double shot into each glass, the amber liquid catching the light like a promise. "Think you need a strong one. It's been a full-on day." He added a dash more with a grin.

"Not too strong, hey," Andersson said, eyeing the glass.

"Trust me, handsome," Reece replied smoothly.

He reached for the bottle of crimson liquid they'd sampled the night before. It shimmered faintly under the lights, like liquid ruby laced with sunfire.

"That what we were drinking last night?" Andersson asked, brow raised.

"Yep," Reece said, holding it up. "Elarin fruit wine. Or, as they call it, va'rellan dora."

Andersson snorted. "That wasn't wine. That was alcoholic syrup."

"Just a dash," Reece replied, tipping the bottle carefully and letting a whisper of it bleed into the bourbon. "Don't worry—it'll work."

Then he paused, scanning the options on the back shelf. His fingers landed on a small, opaque bottle shaped like a gear casing, stamped with a Stonari guild seal.

"This," he said, uncorking it with a soft hiss, "is called Ketha Root Oil. Stonari brew it underground—something about mineral pressure and fermentation over lava vents. Supposed to enhance clarity and stamina. Smells like scorched cinnamon and steel."

He let a single drop fall into each glass. It bloomed across the surface in a faint ripple of iridescent silver, then vanished.

To finish, he reached for a tall bottle of Thedan spring water—drawn from the deeproots of Vhenasul. As he poured, the water fizzed subtly where it met the bourbon, illuminating the drink from within. Like it was waiting to be tasted.

"There," he said, sliding a glass across to Andersson. "A fusion. Strong, grounded, a little bit sweet, and way more complicated than it looks."

Andersson took it, watching the glow flicker in the depths. "Sounds familiar."

Reece winked. "I thought it might."

Andersson lifted the glass, eyeing the contents with a skepticism honed over a career of military-grade coffee and emergency rations. He took a sip. The flavor hit immediately—deep, oaky bourbon layered with a whisper of sweetness, something floral and strange blooming at the back of his tongue.

He blinked. "Okay… that's pretty good."

Reece grinned, smug and pleased with himself. "See? Told ya. I'm a pro."

"I believe you," Andersson said, taking another sip—less cautious this time.

"You know," Reece said, swirling his own glass with a practiced flick of the wrist, "back in Vancouver I used to take my top off to do this. Give the people what they want."

Andersson gave a dry laugh. "I have no doubt."

Reece circled the bar casually, glass in hand, the music humming low and sultry in the background. Without much warning, he reached out, caught Andersson's free hand, and tugged him toward one of the couches.

"Come on," he said, already leading. "No point in having a sexy new lounge if we don't use it."

Reece watched him for a long moment, the light catching in his eyes, something unreadable passing behind them. Then his voice dropped, quieter now, the playfulness slipping into something steadier.

"So… about last night?"

Andersson didn't answer right away. He turned his glass slowly in his hands, the ice catching the light. "What about it?" he asked eventually, tone deliberately casual—too casual.

Reece set his drink down on the low table in front of them. "How do you feel about it?" he asked. No teasing. Just a question, plain and clear.

Andersson exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. He rubbed a hand through his hair, buying himself a moment.

"I don't make a habit of sleeping with my subordinates," he said. The words came out flat, measured. Professional. But there was a hesitation just beneath it—one Reece caught instantly.

Reece nodded, but he didn't retreat. "I figured," he said, tone calm but firm. "But also… if we're stuck in another galaxy for the rest of our lives, and you're the only other human male around—"

He paused, watching Andersson carefully. "What's wrong with us getting closer?"

Andersson tilted his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Is that all I've got going for me? I'm the only other human male?"

Reece didn't miss a beat. "Don't twist my words," he said, narrowing his eyes. "You know what I meant. I was into you the second I laid eyes on you. And I know you felt it too."

Andersson didn't deny it. His gaze dropped for a second, the smile still lingering. "You may be right."

"I am right," Reece said, leaning in a little, the drink forgotten in his hand. "I'm just saying… you don't have to be the captain all the time. Not around me. You said it yourself—you were lonely. You don't have to be."

The words caught Andersson off guard. He looked away, jaw tightening slightly, then turned back to Reece with a more cautious edge. "Kyle… we spent one night together. It doesn't mean—let's not make it weird."

"I'm not trying to make it anything," Reece replied, voice gentler now. "I'm just saying, we're in uncharted territory. If there's ever a time to figure this out… it's now."

Andersson studied him for a moment, expression unreadable. Then, with a raised eyebrow, "You seemed pretty keen on Karass."

Reece laughed, the tension between them loosening. "That was just appreciation for the craftsmanship, Captain," he said with a grin. "Plus, I wanted to make you jealous."

He said it lightly, but when the grin faded, his eyes held something more honest—still playful, but real.

Andersson opened his mouth to respond, but Reece tilted his head slightly, as if weighing something. Then, with a grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a teasing lilt in his voice, he added, "Just look at you. You're tall, handsome, muscular—the kind of guy people write bad romance novels about. And don't get me started on those blue eyes. The second I saw you, I wanted to climb you like a goddamn ladder."

Andersson let out an exasperated laugh, heat rising to his face. "Kyle."

"What?" Reece grinned wider. "Come on. Surely I'm not the first crew member to be into you."

Andersson shook his head, a reluctant smile playing at his mouth. "Not the first to show interest," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "But the first I've ever pursued anything with."

That seemed to catch Reece off guard. The mischief in his expression softened into something slower, more genuine. "Yeah?" he said, almost a whisper.

Andersson met his gaze and held it, steady now. "Yeah. Aside from your boyish good looks and smoking hot body—you've got this… maddeningly alluring personality. Part of me wants to turn away from you. The other part…" He exhaled, shaking his head. "The other part wants to take care of you."

Reece's smile faltered just slightly, that glimmer of confidence giving way to something more raw, more real. His voice dropped low, sincere. "I think I'd like that. You taking care of me."

He leaned back, drink resting forgotten on the table, eyes still locked on Andersson. "I won't make it weird," he said after a beat, "but you know... it's more than just sex."

Something about the way he said it—soft, but certain—sent a slow, molten heat through Andersson's chest. He hadn't expected that kind of honesty from Reece, not here, not now. But there it was. Unguarded. Real.

Andersson was quiet for a second, the words lingering in the space between them. Not overwhelming—but unmistakably real. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than usual, a little rough around the edges. "We've only known each other for what… four days?"

Reece shrugged, his gaze steady. "Feels like longer. In a good way. Like maybe this was meant to happen." He paused, then added, simply, "I like you."

There was no irony in it. No performance. Just the truth.

Andersson hesitated. Then, finally, let his guard down. "I like you too, Kyle," he admitted, his voice low but steady. "And we've got all the time in the galaxy."

Something stirred in him—relief, maybe. But also uncertainty. It was too easy to feel this way. Too easy to be this close. Given the chaos they'd come from, the alien planet, the galactic unknown stretching out before them… this kind of comfort felt almost dangerous.

And yet, when he looked at Reece—really looked—he found nothing but certainty staring back at him. No fear. No doubt. Just that stubborn, warm confidence that had kept surprising him since the moment they met.

Maybe, Andersson thought, that was enough. For now.

Reece leaned forward, the gleam in his eye returning. "You know, I'm ten years younger than you."

Andersson arched an eyebrow. "I noticed."

Reece grinned. "That's nothing. You look younger anyway—not that it's a problem. I bet you've broken a few new recruits' hearts."

He inched closer, his voice dipping just enough to brush against something more intimate. "Plus… you felt great last night."

Andersson's brow lifted slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his face—but Reece wasn't done.

"I haven't felt that in a long time," he said, quieter now. The teasing edge in his tone softened, giving way to something unguarded. "Maybe ever. I've had sex—plenty of it—but feeling something?" His gaze met Andersson's, steady and open. "That was rare."

He let the silence stretch, then added, "And I don't just mean you're good at it—which, for the record, you really are—but… last night wasn't just physical. It mattered."

Andersson's throat tightened slightly, his pulse ticking up a notch. There was something disarming in Reece's honesty—simple, unvarnished. It caught him off guard in a way few things ever did.

Reece shifted, his confidence wavering for just a second. "Sorry. Too much?"

Andersson exhaled, steadying himself before meeting his gaze. "No," he said, voice quieter now, more certain. "Just surprised. Not gonna lie… I've been thinking about it all day."

A slow grin spread across Reece's lips, the tension easing as his playful confidence returned. "Good." His eyes swept over Andersson's face, lingering a moment too long. "I was starting to think I was the only one."

Andersson smirked, shaking his head. "Not even close."

Reece leaned back slightly, still watching him, measuring. "I just need you to know… last night meant something to me. And I don't think I was the only one who felt that."

Andersson exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving Reece's. For once, he didn't have a ready response. Because Reece was right. It hadn't just been sex. It had been something else—something that had caught him completely off guard.

Reece smirked again, this time softer, more knowing. "See? Got you thinking."

Andersson let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You really don't hold back, do you?"

"Why would I?" Reece tilted his head. "I've spent most of my life pretending things didn't matter. You matter. So I figure—what's the point in playing games?"

Something shifted in Andersson's chest. He wasn't used to this—wasn't used to someone like Reece, who could disarm him so easily.

He let the words settle, then tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "And us spending the night in a beautiful castle on a mountain in the middle of an alien world had nothing to do with it?"

Reece's eyes glinted. "Maybe," he said, voice low and teasing. "But only one way to find out if it's still as good."

Then he moved—smooth and certain—swinging a leg over Andersson's lap like he'd done it a hundred times before. His weight settled warm and solid against him, a grounding pressure against the plush cushions of the lounge couch. Andersson's fingers twitched at Reece's waist, resisting the pull to draw him in, to close the last of the space between them. The cool metal curve of the ship's hull arched overhead, but all Andersson could feel was the heat of the man in his arms.

Reece leaned in, arms around his neck, fingers brushing the short hairs at his nape. His voice dropped to a murmur. "See? Perfect fit."

Andersson exhaled sharply, his hands resting on Reece's hips. He could feel every breath, every inch of him—anchoring, impossible to ignore.

"You're trouble, Kyle Reece," he muttered.

Reece only grinned, and then he kissed him.

Firm. Sure. A deliberate collision of heat and want. The moment stretched between them, tension unraveling into something deeper—something inevitable.