“W-what do you want from me?” I shout, my tone dry, raw, and fuelled by my fear.

“I want to see the world before it is too late,” Nero tells me in my native tongue. “I want… to learn about this place.”

“It’s already too late,” I say as I try to keep my breaths under control. “We have no time for that.”

Gloom spread across his features, and I wonder, Is it just my imagination? Or was father somehow wrong in his calculations when he informed me Nero was incapable of feeling any emotion?

“Say, can I borrow it?” Nero asks me.

I knit my brows together and cringe. “What are you talking about?”

The ship rumbles again, and, judging from the severity of the current crisis at hand, I probably won’t have any willing souls coming to my rescue any time soon; let alone any who’ll even realise I’m missing.

Nero turns to a part of the lab I haven’t been to in while. He points to an escape pod. “That thing,” he says. “It can get me out of here, can’t it?”

“It’s not finished,” I tell him. “You can’t use it.”

There is a brief pause, one which lets me linger on the thought that I might have upset him, and that I might be paying for that soon. He looks at me once more, says, “But you can access it with your special bracelet, can’t you?” Before I can answer, the floor tilts sideways again.

I lose my footing. A nearby shelf threatens to crash down on me. I shut my eyes and try to protect myself with my arms. The noise of it being smashed to pieces against the floor rings across the room and around my figure—but I don’t feel any pain.

I blink. Nero is only inches away from my face now. His breaths are heavy, and it is there and then that I realise he has shielded me from the blow with his own body. I gasp. “Why would you—”

“Because I need you,” he says, “I need your help.” And then, his eyes are on my wrist as he reaches for the gauntlet that circles around my skin. I try to avoid him, yet he is either too fast, or I am simply too slow, for his own hand—his hand which contains the powers of entire galaxies—is now holding onto me tightly. “Please don’t run away,” Nero whispers, his voice all too soft and tender for the menace he represents. “Please, listen to me,” he says. “I want to borrow your ship. Please.”

“I already told you,” my attention darts back and forth across the room in search of something—anything—I could use as a weapon. “It’s not finished, you won’t get very far if you use it. Not to mention you may even perish in doing so. You must stay in this lab, Nero. Until everything is fixed, don’t…” I bite my lip and avert my gaze from his. “Don’t cause any trouble,” I mutter.

The fog around him rises and dissipates into the air. A small gasp escapes his lips. “Nero?” Nero tilts his head, his grip around my gauntlet loosens slightly. “Is that… Is that my name?”

I gulp. “Y-yes,” I tell him. “Your name is Nero.”

What he does next catches me off guard; I don’t know how to react when a smile tugs at the edges of his lips. “That’s a wonderful name!” he chimes. “Did you choose it for me?”

Heat rises to my face. “No!” I blurt as my eyes go wide. “W-why would I do that?”

“You visit me a lot,” he says, and I blame it on my imagination again, that he seems happy about this fact. “I’ve always wanted to talk to you, to ask you many questions.”

“Huh?” My head retreats back into my shoulders. It occurs to me that my elbows are beginning to grow sore from leaning against them. “But you’re always staring at the wall!” I say. “How would even you know whether it’s me or another?”

“I do,” Nero says with a curt nod. “I do know it’s you. I see you leave and enter the room… sometimes, that is.”

I close my eyes and try not to groan. By now, I’ve given up on shaking him off. As long as he’s not attacking me or attempting to run… it’s good enough, I suppose. “It could be a scientist,” I say, my voice eaten by the sounds of sirens that have begun to play again on the ship’s speakers. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be me.”

Nero frowns; at least, I assume that’s a frown. “The scientists don’t look like you though,” he mumbles, apparently confused by my claims. “They’re always wearing strange coats. I can never see their eyes, and they don’t have such wonderful blue markings on their skin as you do, Sire.”

If it wasn’t for him calling me Sire, a part of me fears I might’ve blushed at such an honest compliment void of any other intention behind it.

“Listen…” I take a deep breath. “The point is, you can’t just leave and—”

The lights whir back to life.

The sounds of footsteps approach.