It was now an hour until he had to be back in the cockpit, and Rin felt miserable. Every minute passing was bringing him closer to five weeks of loneliness. Well, he wouldn’t be completely alone, of course. Mikey would still be his roommate and talk constantly. Devon would be in chat and occasionally invite him for a movie watchalong with his girlfriends or other stewards. There would be tens of other crew members he occasionally talked to.

But Andrew would be gone.

The Hopestar librarian, the reformed pirate, and more than a friend Andrew Haasan was currently packing his hovercase in preparation for his time off the ship. Rin was sitting in a soft chair, knees pulled up to his chin, and watched Andrew move from one corner to another and then back to the middle, where the hovercase stood open. 

Haasan’s personal rooms were located close to the outer bulkhead, far enough from the library entrance so as to not be accidentally stumbled upon by a curious passenger. Other than that, he didn’t have a lockable door to adhere to the safety standards. (The seventh deck was not meant for living quarters. Adding one more secure control system increased the risk of a malfunction during an emergency.) The room had a bed (wider than a common bunk and locked in the unfolded position), a storage box, a media interface on the opposite wall, two soft chairs, a desk with a stationary interface, a warm light lamp with a bead curtain shade, and a small transparent shelf box for physical books. Paper books. Rin hasn't found the courage to touch any of them yet, despite being given permission.

It’s been a bit over a year since Rin joined the crew of Hopestar (by the internal calendar that is, which didn’t match the universal one used on Earth. Technically, each day was still 24 hours long, but there were no names for days or months. It was used mostly to count the days the ship spent in subspace, where it was impossible to synchronise timestamps through the outnet). A bit over a year since they’ve been boarded by a group of desperate pirates. And a bit over a year since he and Andrew started… well. He still felt awkward calling this ‘dating’.

Most of their relationship took place here, in the library. Almost every day, after his shift, Rin would come down to the Seventh deck and find his favourite chair in one of the backside reading spaces. If the library was open, he would spend time reading the plastic books. If the attendance was closed, he would be in the same spot but with Andrew sitting opposite of him. They would talk about the books they’d read (Andrew was reading so much and so fast, sometimes four or five books at the same time, it was impossible to catch up. Rin adored it), drink tea brewed from actual dried plants, and share stories about how their day went. And if the atmosphere was just right enough, Rin would reach over and hold Andrew’s hand. Or let him hold his. Or Andrew would hold him, Rin fitting perfectly on Andrew’s wide chest, his arms like a blanket around his shoulders. And Andrew’s lips on his forehead.

But often something felt off. Rin would think about what this all meant, being in… being attracted to a man. Something that he was taught his whole life was deviant, unnatural, and wrong. Hopestar was home to over a hundred stamped individuals, most of them accused of loving a wrong person or feeling like a wrong person. Rin’s story was different: he had a medical condition that prevented him from having children. And yet, here he was, a year later, feeling the happiest in the company of a tall, smart, handsome man. ‘But not like that’, he thought on those bad days. ‘Being attracted to someone’s smarts does not mean it is romantical.’ And he considered this whole idea only because Andrew was gay and confessed his feelings first in the moment of high mental distress.

Rin kept reading books, old and new, in hopes that one of them could give him an answer: ‘is what I am feeling love, or am I just afraid to lose a friend?’

He knew these swings were upsetting Andrew, but the librarian had decades-long experience of hiding his emotions. He didn’t confront Rin, didn’t drop veiled jabs, didn’t react with annoyance. He was simply there as close or as far away as Rin wanted him. Somehow, this only made Rin feel even guiltier for being unable to get himself together.

Andrew finished strapping two pairs of soft-soled shoes to the inner side of the hovercase and straightened with a heavy sigh. Rin raised his eyebrows to let go of a frown so as not to alert him to the dark thoughts he was fighting. He didn’t want their parting to be defined by sadness and worry.

“Have you given my proposition a thought?” Andrew asked, finally looking over. “About the library?”

Rin perked up and swallowed. “Oh, well… You can definitely tell the captain that I have the access if someone needs to get here when I’m not on shift. But staying here as a librarian…” He smiled shyly and shrugged.

Amusement played in Andrew’s eyes. “You will be staying here anyways.”

Okay, that was deserved but still uncalled for. Andrew saw Rin’s pout and smiled apologetically with a corner of his mouth. “I’m not asking for it to be daily, but maybe a couple times a week, for two hours or so. Some kind of schedule that can be put up on the passenger board. You know the system well, you’ll just need to provide downloads and collect the interfaces at the end of a hop.”

“And ‘not give Mikey anything’, I remember the main rule.”

Andrew pursed his lips and shrugged. “If he wants to return the interfaces he owns while I am not on the ship, I promise to accept them without comments.”

Rin chuckled. Despite what most of the people on Hopestar thought, Andrew had a sense of humour. Most of the time, he kept it to himself. Probably, because he had nobody to share it with. 

Except for Rin now.

This thought warmed his insides, and got immediately smothered by a wave of sadness so potent it brought tears to his eyes. Soft rustle of the carpet indicated that Andrew noticed this and walked over. He went down on his knees in front of the armchair and murmured: “What’s wrong?”

He was sitting on the floor, just a few centimetres away from the armchair, close enough to reach over, but still at a distance. It was always Rin’s choice to close this distance if he wanted to. Like this, Andrew’s face was finally lower than Rin’s, his height practically cut in half. 

Rin took a deep breath, trying to go back to neutral. “Are you… are you leaving right as we land?”

“Yes. I have a train ticket, and if I miss it, I will be stranded in Bogota for a full day.”

Rin knew this, of course, but hearing it out loud felt worse. “Then we’ll have to say good bye now, before I go to my station.”

Andrew’s expression softened, but he didn’t reach over, despite his left hand twitching slightly. “I won’t be gone that long. I will be there when you reach Jeph.”

A quiet sob escaped Rin’s lips and he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around Andrew’s neck, and fell out of the armchair and into his embrace. Rin held onto the folds on the back of Andrew’s shirt as if letting go would lead to him falling down into a pit. He never felt so reluctant to say goodbye to anyone in his life. Five weeks should not be so upsetting, right? But it was five weeks divided by the infinity of space multiplied by the unstable subspace time flow.

Andrew gently wrapped his arms around Rin’s shoulder and rested his chin on top of the pilot’s head. He stayed silent, letting the emotions run their course. Finally, Rin sniffled and sat back to look into the librarian’s face. They gazed at each other, sharing the sadness.

Then Andrew smiled and reached to trail the tips of his fingers down Rin’s cheek. “I promise, it will be fine. I also promise to send you outnet letters, so you can read them when Hopestar is back in normal space. Would it be alright?”

Rin felt a smile appear on his lips too. He nodded. “I’d like that, yes.”

Andrew nodded and leaned forward. Rin’s heart jumped into his throat, but it was only a kiss on the forehead. It still sent shivers down his spine.

“Please, don’t worry so much. I am certain this time apart will actually be useful for both of us. A change of routine. It’s quite rare when you live on a spaceship. Perhaps, it will give you more time to… think about what you want from your life.”

Rin blinked, his stomach twisting painfully. He searched Andrew’s face, trying to determine his meaning. “... You are disappointed with me. With us.”

The librarian huffed and shook his head. “No, no.” Then more seriously, with a deeper frown. “Rin, no. But it is clear that you are anguished, and I don’t know if I can help with that. At times, I think I am actually preventing you from untangling whatever that is that causes the anxiety.” He pressed a finger to Rin’s lips to stop him from arguing. “Please, hear me out. I won’t pretend I know what is going on in your head. You and me - we are different and yet connect in some things that matter. So, perhaps, what I understand about myself could help you learn something new about yourself.”

A pause. “What is it?”

“In my first years on Hopestar, before the library.” He paused and added sourly. “After Andrade. In those years, I was restless. Anxious. Jumpy at every little thing. And then Bhagooli joined the crew, and Nikolai insisted I talk to him. It wasn’t fast, and I was resisting at each step. But one of the things I eventually realised is that my frustration was caused by not being able to share it. Learning that helped me deal with it.”

Rin couldn’t help but chuckle. “But… you still don’t share it with anyone.” Even me, he thought. The silent part hung between them.

Andrew didn’t look offended. His expression turned wistful. “I don’t. But I discovered books. And made something meaningful out of that, if I say so myself. However, I want you to find a healthier coping mechanism.”

They looked at each other for some time. Rin felt tears stinging his eyes again. “I don’t think I can share… you with anyone.”

“You don’t have to. But I want you to…” Andrew searched for the words and sighed. “I want you to try and determine why. Why does it feel impossible for you to share this relationship here, on Hopestar? And this is not me saying you are wrong. But maybe it will make me feel better if I learn your answer.”

They didn’t have much time to discuss it further. Rin’s interface pinged him with a summon to the cockpit to prepare the subspace exit. He squeezed Andrew in another desperate, bone-crushing hug, made him promise again to write letters as often as he can, and hurried out of the library, rubbing his face in a futile attempt to hide the fact that he was crying. He had enough time to take a shower and change into the uniform, and arrived in the cockpit second to last.

Luckily, the last person was Andrade.

It was the end of Mikey’s shift but he had to stay for the arrival. He raised an eyebrow. “Look who is unusually late.” Then his smile faded as he saw something in Rin’s face. “What? What happened?”

Rin shook his head. Mikey was one of the people who would understand. But he would also tell everyone else without meaning to. The Hopestar crew loved their gossip. There was a high chance Rin didn’t know the full depth of it. And the possibility of it being very deep was scaring him.

Then the Chief Pilot entered the cockpit, and Rin had no time to think about anything but work.