“The early stage,” Idris answers. “New attachment. High emotional load. It’s normal to feel…overwhelmedby someone you care about.”
Stan sniffles, definitely fake. “Idris, stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”
I stare at the floor. My pulse trips over itself. “I’m not overwhelmed.”
“Your readings show you’re extremely overwhelmed,” Idris points out, unhelpful. “Your sympathetic nervous system is trying to climb out of your body.”
Stan whispers, “Babe, your nervous system has great taste.”
I glare at him. It does nothing to stop him.
Idris smooths a hand over his tie like he’s about to give a toast at our wedding. “If you ever want advice…” he starts.
Stan cuts in. “Wow, babe. We’re getting the birds and the bees talk. From Idris. This ishuge. This is practically premarital counseling.”
“We’re not—” My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. “This isn’t—”
“Nil,” Idris calls, “you don’t need to label anything before you’re ready. But the signs are quite clear.”
Stan pats his arm. “It’s okay. I know I’m irresistible.”
Idris clears his throat. “Right. Well, you two have…adynamic. A very strong one. That’s all I meant.”
Stan smirks at me. “Hear that? Strong dynamic. Doctor-diagnosed.”
I want the floor to open up and swallow me. I wanna hate this so bad. But my heart isn’t listening.
“Come on, Ocean Eyes.” Stan’s shoulder bumps mine. “Let’s try out some doctor’s advice for a few hours.”
I shoot up, heading out into the hall.
Stan jogs after me. “Closet quickie round two?” he asks with a wink.
Screwed. I’msoscrewed. But not as screwed as he’s about to be. I mumble “bed” instead. He’s grinning from ear to ear about it, but he’s about to see what happens when he keeps acting like a brat.
***
We don’t make it to lunch.
Stan’s been running his mouth for five minutes straight about how we’re “doctor-approved soulmates” and how Idris basically officiated our relationship in the MedBay. I shut him up for good the only way I know how.
He goes from loud to silent fast. All that smug energy burns off under my hands until he’s shaking. When I finally make him come in my hands, he’s boneless in the bottom bunk, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes barely open.
“Can’t feel my legs,” he mumbles into his pillow. “Ten out of ten. Do it again.”
I leave him there and head back to the MedBay alone. Em runs the scans without Stan whispering in my ear. Everything comes out clean. Vitals, graphs, numbers. All good. I even get to tell Em something I remembered. Otis invented Kys for my mom. Thought it was useless to know, but she thanks me with owlishly wide eyes behind her glasses.
When I get back to my cabin, I make good on Stan’s request to do it again. And again. Round after round until he’s half laughing, half begging, and I’m not far behind him.
Before dawn, he’s sprawled on his stomach, one arm flung over my waist. His face is buried in the pillow. His voice comes out muffled. “Babe,” he mumbles. “I’m so hungry. We skipped meals, so I’m dyin’ here.”
I ease his arm off me and slide out of the bunk. He makes a sound of protest.
“I’ll grab something from the mess,” I tell him. “You stay here.”
He mumbles something that sounds like “bring back chips and your big dick,” then rolls onto his back and passes out mid-mumble.
I pull on the nearest pair of pants. It’s a little looser, so I guess it’s his. I let it slide down my hips and take in the smell of it, liking it too much to take it off now.
