Andersson and Reece had spent the entire morning in their underwear, half-buried under the rumpled sheets, watching old holo films from the comfort of the captain's bed. The room was a comfortable kind of mess—discarded food cartons littered the small table nearby, trophies from Reece's raid on the galley. A tall, chilled bottle of botanical water sat within arm's reach, and Andersson sipped lazily from it between scenes, one arm draped around Kyle like it belonged there.
Reece was sprawled across his chest, his dark hair a tangle of sleep and zero-gravity stubbornness, laughing freely at some ridiculous one-liner from a movie he'd probably seen a thousand times. Andersson didn't even know what the film was. He didn't care. The sound of Reece laughing was better than the plot.
His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles in Reece's hair, eyes flicking occasionally to the viewport where Vael'theron spun in the soft light of late morning. The sky was impossibly clear. Warm sunlight filtered in through the upper rim of the window, casting pale gold stripes across the sheets, the floor, Reece's bare shoulder.
This—this—was exactly what Andersson needed.
No missions. No ancient visions clawing through his skull. No lectures about galactic history condensed into migraine-sized packets. No charts, no political strategy, no ship diagnostics blinking red for attention. Just him. And Kyle. And this quiet sliver of peace he hadn't realized he was starving for.
The planet stretched below them—lush, endless, alive. He could be anywhere right now. Exploring ancient ruins, decoding sacred glyphs, getting talked into another political meet-and-greet with a council of tree-speaking philosophers. Hell, he could even be sitting on the beach, Thedas had plenty. And maybe tomorrow he would.
But right now?
He had Reece stretched across him like a blanket, a faint smile playing on his lips, a familiar movie humming softly in the background, and sunlight painting lazy patterns across the bed.
And for the first time since arriving in this galaxy… Andersson didn't want to be anywhere else.
Andersson knew the peace wouldn't last. It never did. Somewhere out there, Karass was pacing beside a blinking terminal—planning to send Andersson into another situation where the only guarantee was chaos and a splitting headache.
He'd told Hale to enjoy the stillness while it lasted.
She'd seemed happy enough for the alone time—said something about making her new cabin "look cute." Cute, for Hale, probably meant meticulously measuring the space between every hanging jumpsuit or re-stitching the heel seams on all her identical black socks.
Whatever made her feel at home.
He probably should've been combing through the data drive with EDI, trying to make sense of this galaxy he'd apparently be spending the rest of his life in. Or learning how Mass Effect technology actually worked. Or figuring out what the hell the new drive core did besides hum at unsettling frequencies. There were a million and one things he should've been doing.
But none of it mattered right now—not with Reece draped across him like this quiet had been tailor-made just for them.
Andersson took another bite of the Korvael slice—a dense, treacle-black wedge that looked like it should weigh five kilos but somehow melted on the tongue like nougat laced with burnt sugar and ground nuts. It was chewy, rich, and just shy of too sweet. He was pretty sure it could double as an energy bar or a building material, depending on who you asked.
And honestly? It was exactly what he needed. After days of fragrant, floral, delicately plated Elarin cuisine, it was nice to eat something that didn't smell like a meadow. Something he could chew on. The Stonari made stodgy food for a reason, and right now, it was hitting the spot like a weighted blanket for his stomach.
Reece shifted and lazily reached toward the small stash of snacks on the nightstand, failing dramatically.
"Hey," he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. "Throw me another one of those… what are they called again?"
"Velari discs," Andersson replied, reaching over to snag the tin from the side table. He plucked one of the delicate spirals from inside—thin rounds that looked like spun crystalline sugar, gleaming in intricate whorls of translucent color—and dropped the whole tin onto Reece's chest. Reece let out a muffled grunt and grinned.
"These things are dangerous," Reece said, already halfway through a bite. "This would go great with coffee."
Andersson nodded. "Yeah. Could use a cup."
"I can't reach the machine," Reece said, stretching one arm limply in the direction of the counter, where the coffee unit was nestled in beside the environmental controls. It was a tragic attempt.
"Oh, I guess I'll go then," Andersson said, not even pretending to hide the sarcasm.
"You're just so much better at it than me," Reece said, dropping back into the sheets and striking a pose of helplessness so melodramatic it could've won awards.
With a low groan, Andersson climbed out of the bed, stretched—boxers rumpled, hair even worse—and padded across the room. He tapped the side of the machine.
"EDI," he called. "How much coffee do we have left?"
"Based on your current average consumption—two full pots per day, plus Lieutenant Hale's half pot—you have approximately three days of coffee remaining."
Reece let out a theatrical sigh, clutching his tin of Velari discs like it was a comfort blanket. "It's going to be a long, sad day when the last coffee in the galaxy is gone. Maybe we should hold a sermon. Mark the occasion."
Andersson didn't even look up from the coffee machine. "Not like you to be dramatic."
Reece made a wounded noise. "I'm gonna miss coffee when it's gone."
Reece sat up slightly, the sheet sliding to his waist as he pointed lazily toward the kitchenette. "Hey, I grabbed some of that creamy sap stuff from the galley yesterday. It's in the fridge."
Andersson didn't even have to think. "Neratha extract?"
Reece blinked. "Yeah—that's the stuff. Think it could be steamed up?"
Andersson raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Does someone want a latte?"
Reece pulled the blanket up to his chin, just his eyes peeking out, lashes fluttering with mock-innocence. "I would love a latte. And you're so good at it."
"Am I?" Andersson asked, deadpan.
"Maybe," Reece said, trying not to smile.
Andersson opened the fridge and pulled out the container. "You know this stuff is technically medicinal."
Reece blinked. "Then why was it in the galley?"
"Well, it's like food—but used medicinally," Andersson said, examining the label like it might argue with him.
Reece stretched dramatically, arms flopping back onto the bed. "Well so is coffee, so get brewing, cowboy."
Andersson sighed with mock exasperation, prepping the last of the coffee like it was liquid gold. "You're lucky you're cute."
"I know," Reece said smugly, then added in a pitiful voice, "Besides, I'd only mess it up and waste the coffee…"
Andersson just shook his head and rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him completely.
Andersson busied himself at the counter, steaming the neratha extract with practiced focus—or what passed for it, given that he'd never technically done this before. The result was two semi-passable lattes: creamy, a little nutty, and just fragrant enough to be convincing. He handed one over as Reece sat up, hair sticking up in wild directions and face still smug with blankets.
"So," Andersson said, raising an eyebrow. "Can I do anything else for you, Your Majesty?"
Reece didn't miss a beat. "Yeah. You can get your sexy butt back in this bed next to me where you belong, and help me pick the next holo."
Andersson smirked, already climbing in. "As you command."
He slid under the covers, settling back into the nest of pillows and limbs, one arm curling around his mug, the other around Reece. Reece leaned in immediately, head finding its usual place against Andersson's chest with a sigh of exaggerated contentment.
Reece was scrolling lazily through the holo menu, cycling past a dozen films they'd either already watched or instantly vetoed. "Seen it. Too depressing. Oh gods, definitely not that one," he muttered, flicking through the options with the air of someone doing serious work.
Andersson took another sip of his makeshift latte, the nutty warmth settling easy on his tongue.
Then EDI's voice cut through the peace like a blade of glass.
"Captain Andersson," she said, cool and clinical. "Incoming transmission from Skyhold. It is Inquisitor Karass."
Andersson exhaled slowly, placing his mug on the side table with a quiet clink. The moment he'd been waiting for all morning—expecting, dreading—had finally arrived.
Reece made a noise of theatrical despair, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it like a teenager denied festival tickets. "Ugh. I hate that guy."
He straightened himself with a huff, raking his fingers through his hair like he was preparing for a duel.
Andersson didn't move beyond sitting up straighter, still shirtless, still in his boxers, and still completely unbothered.
"Okay, EDI," he said, voice steady. "Put it through. Up here."
The air flickered. And just like that, the real galaxy came crashing back in.
The air above the foot of the bed shimmered as the holo projector activated, resolving into the hard-edged, unmistakable form of Inquisitor Karass.
Reece didn't miss a beat. He deliberately flopped across Andersson's chest, limbs splayed, his expression the perfect picture of smug territoriality.
Karass clocked the scene and paused. For a moment, the silence stretched—then he gave a sharp, unexpected grin. "I heard you had an eventful day yesterday."
Andersson didn't even blink. "Yes. And if you don't mind, we're still recovering from it."
Karass gave a small nod, his tone just this side of respectful. "I have news regarding the Citadel. Come to Skyhold so we can discuss."
"Not today, Karass."
The grin faded. A flicker of something colder—offense, perhaps—danced across the Inquisitor's face. "Not today? When will be convenient for you?"
"Karass, we've been flung into another galaxy, analyzed quadrants of alien data, absorbed your planet's history—I've joined with your giant sentient tree, had my brain rewired, and I'm still unpacking the memories she uploaded into me. We've earned a day off."
Karass stared at him for a long beat. Then, surprisingly, his expression softened. The faintest curl of a smile touched his lips. "Very well. Next dawnmark. Second light."
The holo flickered and vanished.
Reece exhaled dramatically. "That was so hot. I am so into you right now."
Andersson just laughed, and let himself sink back into the pillows.