I just nod, pressing my forehead to Garma’s tiny one. His skin is soft. Warmer than I expected. He giggles. Gods help me, he giggles like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be held by someone who never knew he existed until ten minutes ago.
The station smells like ozone and polish. The air's cleaner than Rhavadaz by miles, but it’s too bright. Too sharp. Like reality hasn’t caught up yet. People are clapping. Someone’s whistling. A tech yells something about Whiplash needing a complete overhaul and Cowley’s gruff voice snaps a response, something clipped and bureaucratic.
None of it matters.
Garma squirms in my arms and then pats my cheek. “You’re big,” he says, serious as anything.
I laugh, shaky. “You’re not wrong.”
“Your scales are shiny.”
I glance at Aria, who’s laughing softly now, shoulders shaking.
“He gets that from you,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Hardly. You’re the one who preens.”
I tuck Garma closer. “I never knew I could love something this fast.”
Her smile fades. Not in a bad way. Just softer now. Tired. Wary.
“I was gonna tell you,” she says. “I just... didn’t know how.”
“I get it.”
“You mad?”
“Not even a little.”
She leans her weight against my side, just slightly. Garma nestles between us like he’s always belonged there.
And maybe he has.
I kiss his forehead.
Victory doesn’t usually look like this.
But gods, I’ll take it.
And I’ll never let it go.
The suite’s quiet.
Too quiet, after everything.
After Rhavadaz. After the Meld. After Garma saying “Daddy” and detonating something in my chest I didn’t know I’d been holding back for years. The walls here are smooth, pale gray alloy with soft-blue lighting recessed behind panels. Sterile, if I’m being honest, but Aria made it feel warm somehow. She always does. There’s a cot folded out in the corner—Garma’s—surrounded by plush animals some engineer must’ve raided from the medbay rec room. A ridiculous little plush kaiju grins at me from his pillow like it’s in on the joke.
He’s out cold. Arms flung wide. Tiny chest rising and falling like he fought the same war we did and came out whole.
Aria’s curled up against me on the main bed, one leg tossed over mine, cheek pressed to my shoulder like she owns the space between us. Which—hell—she kinda does. Her breath ghosts warm across my collarbone, her fingers trailing lazy, distracted patterns through the scales on my chest.
“Stop thinking so loud,” she mutters.
I smirk, eyes half-lidded. “Can’t help it.”
“You’re vibrating.”
“That’s my default state.”
