The bunk under me creaks. “You awake, roomie?”
I grunt at Stan in response.
“This ship’s trash,” he starts. “I checked when I woke up from a nightmare. There’s no room service or breakfast in bed. What happened to hospitality? Human dignity?”
A smile pulls at my mouth.
He knocks the underside of my mattress. “Hey, Ocean Eyes. You composing sad poetry up there or brooding with your eyes closed?”
“Both,” I say, raspy.
His laugh comes fast and warms me up. “Good one, Nil.”
I sit up slowly. My legs hang over the side. My body complains, but I’m getting better at ignoring that.
Stan stands with his back to me and shrugs his uniform shirt on. His short hair looks like he lost a fight with the pillow, but it still works on him.
“You look like somebody rebuilt you out of protein powder,” hesays, eyeing me.
“Speak for yourself, pal.”
He makes a face. “Pal? That’s rude. We’re shared-trauma roommates now. We’ve moved pastpal.”
He bends down to tie on his shoes. I find myself staring at the back pockets of his pants.
“Anyway, listen, I wandered the ship at dawn. Could’ve been sleepwalking or stress. Hard to tell. Either way, I found the mess hall. No idea if the food’s edible, but we’ll find out together.”
“You didn’t eat?” I ask.
“I didn’t want to break my fast without you.” He bumps my shin with his elbow. “So what do you say, roomie? Ya hungry?”
It takes me a minute to check in with my body. Being awake still feels brand new. So hunger’s hard to feel. But he’s offering, and there’s something tempting in that. “I could eat,” I say.
“Hell yes! Let’s go get some proper breakfast before the doctors remember we’re supposed to be on a controlled diet or something.”
I climb down. Stan’s talking by the time the door slides shut behind us.
“This hallway? Haunted. Has to be. Spirits. Bad lighting. Same thing.”
I don’t comment, but he glances back to make sure I’m still there.
He keeps doing that every few minutes while he talks and we walk the hall until we head down the stairs.
By the time we reach the mess hall, a faint smell of coffee hits me.
Stan inhales loudly. “Caffeine’s close. I can feel it. My soul’s trembling for some beans.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. He looks pleased seeing that.
We stop by the doors. “So…” he trails off. “When’s the socially acceptable time to hit on your recently resurrected roommate? Asking for a friend.”
I blink at him. Last thing I need is to misread him and end up thinking I’m someone’s stand-in. But I decided a long time ago that Stan’s a flirt. Nothing to read into.
“Too soon? Bad taste?” His gray eyes are looking for my reaction.
“You sure you aren’t asking for yourself?”
His smile snaps back into place. “Knew you were funny, Nil.”
