Andersson woke with a sharp breath, his body tense before his mind even caught up. For a moment, he didn't move—just listened to the thrum of his pulse, loud in his ears. The visions had followed him into sleep again. Less violent now, but no less insistent. Shadows behind his eyes. Echoes of the blight. Of the sky falling. Of civilizations lost.

Still, EDI had been right. He had needed the rest.

He exhaled and turned his head toward the window. Morning was only just beginning to creep across the skyline—soft light bleeding at the edges of the world. The stars were fading, replaced by the slow, golden rise of the day.

Outside, something called—a familiar trill, sharp and high. Andersson blinked, recognizing it before he could place it. Kirellan jay, his brain offered. That was what it was called. The call rang again, unmistakable now in the quiet dawn. Another thing he knew without learning it. Another piece of this world slotted into his mind like it had always been there.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb the warm weight stretched across his chest.

Kyle lay curled half on top of him, face pressed to his sternum, breathing slow and even. His hair was a mess. One arm draped over Andersson's ribs like he was anchoring himself in place.

Andersson watched him for a long moment, something quiet settling behind his ribs.

Siona's words came back to him—soft, deliberate, spoken without flourish: "He desires only one thing."

She hadn't said who. Not exactly. But Andersson had understood the implication as clearly as if she'd etched it into bark. There hadn't been doubt in her voice. Only certainty.

And now, lying here with Kyle asleep on his chest, Andersson couldn't help but believe it.

He let out a breathless, soundless laugh. That simple, huh?

This was their third night together. Not just spent together, but together. They hadn't slept apart since arriving in this galaxy, not once. Andersson wasn't even sure when the last time was that he'd had a bed to himself—and the idea of it now felt almost… alien. Like a piece of his old life he no longer wanted to reclaim.

He looked back at Kyle. Peaceful. Dreaming. Completely unbothered.

Am I in love with him?

The thought came uninvited, unguarded. He didn't flinch from it.

Surely not, he thought. It's been… what, five? Six days? I've lost count. I don't even care anymore.

He closed his eyes for a beat, then opened them again, gazing at the ceiling like it might offer an answer.

If a giant tree says we're destined to be together, who am I to argue?

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He shifted slightly, and Kyle's arm tightened instinctively around his ribs.

Andersson didn't move again. Just breathed. And let himself be.

Love had always been something he'd filed away. Distant. Luxurious. Unattainable. His life had never allowed space for it—too many battles, too much loss. And even when he had wanted it, he'd never let himself believe it could last. It had always been a fleeting thing.

But now…

Now it felt possible.

It wasn't just the physical closeness, the intimacy of bodies sharing warmth through long, sleepless nights. It was the way Reece looked at him—past the rank, past the stoicism. The way he never tried to fix him, or save him. He simply stayed. And that, somehow, meant everything.

Andersson's fingers twitched slightly against the sheets, drawn toward Reece's skin. The urge to reach out, to pull him closer, pulsed through his chest—but he stayed still. Just for a moment longer. Just to feel this.

Siona's voice echoed again, half memory, half prophecy:

"Ah… the flame," she had murmured. "The one who steadies the Starborn. The one who burns, but does not fall."

Andersson turned the words over in his head, slow and quiet.

He steadies me.

It was absurd. It was impossible. It was... exactly right.

Was it actually possible—that their connection had been preordained? Chosen, designed, planted like some seed in a garden he never knew he was tending? And if it was… did he care?

Maybe that's why his life had always felt like orbit—spinning, drifting, circling something unseen. Maybe it was never aimless. Maybe he'd just been waiting. Not for a mission. Not for a sign.

But for him.

And now he was here, asleep on his chest like he'd always belonged there.

Andersson let out a slow breath and closed his eyes briefly, anchoring to the weight of Kyle against him, to the warmth of that small, quiet gravity.

It didn't matter if it was fate, accident, prophecy, or coincidence.

It felt like something that had always been missing had just quietly fallen into place.

Andersson's thoughts drifted deeper, unspooling with no real destination—just that slow circling of possibilities, questions he wasn't in a rush to answer. He could feel Kyle's heartbeat, slow and steady, where their bodies touched. A tether. A reminder.

Then, movement.

Kyle stirred against him, long lashes fluttering as he blinked into the early light. His eyes were hazy with sleep, confusion flickering across his face like he wasn't quite convinced the dream was over.

He looked up, voice still thick with the remnants of rest. "Hey… how do you feel?"

Andersson smiled, soft and real. "Much better. Thank you for staying."

Reece smirked, his voice warming with mischief. "Well, you know, if I hadn't, you might've invited Davrin over to take care of you."

Andersson arched an eyebrow. "Oh, we're doing that now, are we?"

"Hey, I saw the way you looked at him," Reece said, mock-serious. "I'm not jealous, exactly, but if he were to accidentally fall off a bridge? Would be a shame."

Andersson gave a slow, theatrical nod. "He is very… easy on the eye."

"Careful now," Reece warned, grinning.

"But too perfect. Too in touch with his emotions, maybe."

Reece pulled back just enough to look at him. "You saying I'm not perfect?"

"I'm saying," Andersson replied, his voice dropping into something more deliberate, "you're easy on the eye, you're fun to be around… and you have a cute butt. To me, you're perfect."

Reece beamed. "Correct answer. I bet Davrin's the type who'd cry after sex. You know—about how beautiful it was."

Andersson blinked. "Okay. Wow."

Reece nuzzled back into Andersson's chest, one leg tangling lazily over his. "Getting used to staying in your bed now," he murmured, the words muffled against skin.

"It's only been two nights," Andersson said, amusement curling into his voice.

Reece tilted his head, looking up with a grin. "Two nights more than I've spent in my bunk."

"You have your own quarters now," Andersson reminded him.

Reece shrugged. "I'd much rather have yours."

That pulled a smile from Andersson—small, unguarded, impossible to hide. "So you're saying you live here now."

"Hey, someone's gotta take care of you. Flame's duty." Reece's voice took on a mock-serious tone. "Hey, maybe I should get a tattoo. A little flame. That'd be cute."

Andersson raised an eyebrow, curious. "Where would you get it done?"

Reece's grin turned roguish. "Somewhere only you would see." He winked.

Andersson's voice dropped, low and teasing. "Show me."

Reece didn't need to be asked twice.

The early light spilled in through the viewport, catching on the edge of the sheets as they shifted—hands seeking, mouths finding, a hush falling around them like a blanket drawn tight.

Outside, dawn was breaking.

Inside, nothing mattered but this.