Idon’t sleep.
I lie on the narrow bench with my back against the wall, staring at the dim seam where ceiling meets bulkhead, counting the seconds between the hum of the station’s systems. The air smells faintly metallic, recycled too many times, but under it there’s something warmer now. Something human.
Tatek.
He lies beside me, not touching. Close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the thin layer of fabric and tension and restraint. His breathing is steady. Controlled. Too controlled. Not the breathing of someone asleep.
Neither of us moves.
We’ve been like this for over an hour. Two bodies pretending rest while every nerve hums like a live wire.
I keep telling myself I should roll away.
I don’t.
Every time I shift even an inch, my skin becomes hyper-aware of the empty space between us. My arm aches where it almost brushes his. My thigh is too close to his hip. My pulse keeps tripping over itself like it’s waiting for permission.
The silence is unbearable.
Not awkward.
Expectant.
I finally turn my head.
He’s already looking at me.
Of course he is.
His eyes are dark in the low light, pupils blown wide, face carved into stillness like he’s afraid movement might shatter something fragile. The moment stretches.
“You’re not asleep,” I whisper.
“No,” he says quietly.
“Me neither.”
“I know.”
That does something to my chest.
We keep staring at each other like idiots.
My heart is hammering so hard I’m convinced he can hear it.
I don’t plan it.
I just… move.
My hand slides across the thin space between us and brushes the back of his fingers.
Barely.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
His entire body reacts like I shocked him. A sharp inhale. Muscles locking. His hand twitches under mine, then stills, as if he’s holding himself on a leash.
