Steam drifted in slow coils through the Strike Team locker room. Cool light danced through the mist as the once lively space fell quiet; so quiet that the sound of fabric over skin felt louder than it should.

Sarin pulled his shirt over his head in a blur of motion, hem catching on his elbow as he twisted away from Kael. The careless motion only drew more attention to the long, angry red lines raked across his back.

Of course Kael saw them.

He stood a few paces away, hands on his hips. His gaze wasn’t sharp, just… heavy. The kind that made Sarin’s shoulders tense against the shirt he was wrestling into place.

“You’re late,” Kael said quietly. 

Sarin forced a laugh. “Yeah, yeah… sorry, babe. Lost track of time.”

The shirt finally slid down, settling in a wrinkled mess against his skin. Sarin tugged it straight, hands shaking. The dark standard issue synth-fabric should’ve hidden everything, but strands of pale hair clung stubbornly to it, standing out like stars against the void.

Kael’s gaze dropped. Without a word, he stepped closer. He reached out, fingers brushing Sarin’s shoulder as he plucked a single strand of the strange hair from the fabric.

“Sarin.” His voice was steady but strained, like he was holding something barely in check. “Who were you with?”

Sarin felt his throat close. Something inside him twisted, sharp and unsteady.

“Babe…” Sarin’s voice cracked before he could stop it. He swallowed hard and tried again, forcing a trembling smile. “It’s not like that.”

He took a step toward Kael, reaching for him on instinct, but Kael didn’t move to welcome his embrace. He just stood there, holding that single, damning hair between them.

“You won’t make it official with me,” Kael growled, his gaze fixed on Sarin. “And now you invite someone else into your bed?”

Sarin felt the floor drop out beneath him.

“What? Yes—” He stumbled over the words, cheeks flushed. “N—NO! No, babe, that’s not— it’s not what you think!”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then what,” he asked quietly, “am I supposed to think?”

Sarin exhaled hard, the breath shaky at the edges.

“Stars above, Kael…” He leaned back against the lockers, head tipping forward. “I’m not— I didn’t—” He scrubbed at his face with both hands, gathering whatever courage he had left.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was softer. 

“I… brought something back.”

Kael stared at him, expression unreadable.

“You—what?!”

Sarin pushed away from the lockers. Before Kael could speak again, Sarin reached out and caught his hand.

“Babe… please,” Sarin murmured, voice low and unsteady. “Just—come with me. Let me show you.”

Kael looked at their joined hands, but he didn’t pull away. Not yet. Not when Sarin’s thumb brushed the side of his hand in that soft, soothing motion.

Sarin tugged gently, guiding him out of the locker room and down the narrow corridor toward his cabin. Their footsteps echoed off the metal walls, a mismatched rhythm—Sarin’s quick, anxious strides; Kael’s controlled pace trying to mask the turmoil building beneath.

When the door slid open, Kael stopped short.

Sarin’s cabin, normally a mild disaster zone, was now something bordering on catastrophic. Clothing draped over the chair and half the floor. Gear piled haphazardly against the wall. A half-eaten ration packet lay abandoned near the foot of the bed.

Kael’s eyes swept the room in a single, assessing pass. 

“Sarin,” he muttered, “what happened in here?”

“Babe, please. You're not focusing on the important part.”

He squeezed Kael’s hand once more, then nodded toward the bed.

Kael followed his line of sight. His breath stalled.

Curled dead-center on the tangled blankets was a small, alien creature covered in light orange fur; the same fur clinging to Sarin’s shirt. It was tucked into itself, body slowly rising and falling in soft, steady breaths. 

“Sarin,” Kael whispered, “what is that?”

“I… don’t actually know. But it found me on the ridge during our last mission and wouldn’t leave me alone. Climbed into my sniper perch. Scratched me so hard I nearly missed a shot. Then, it started… vibrating.”

Kael turned to face him, disbelief and exhaustion etched into every line of his face.

“You brought a wild, unidentified lifeform aboard an Imperial ship.”

Sarin shrugged.

“Yeah. But… look how cute it is.”

The creature stretched, tiny paws flexing, claws momentarily peeking out. Kael stepped back on instinct.

“See? It’s friendly. Kind of.”

Kael pressed a hand to his forehead, exhaling through his teeth.

“Sarin,” he said quietly, “this is what you brought into your bed—”

“Babe. I told you.” He stepped closer, placing a hand on Kael’s chest. “It wasn’t like that.”

Kael didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away when Sarin brushed his lips against his cheek. Before Sarin’s lips found his own, his nose wrinkled. A sharp, eye-watering scent cut through the air beneath the usual cocktail of sweat and cologne.

“…Sarin,” Kael said slowly, “something stinks in here.”

Sarin cringed, stepping back. He turned toward the furry little alien.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It, uh… leaked.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed. “Leaked?”

Sarin gestured helplessly at the floor. Near the corner was a dark spot he’d tried (and failed) to disguise with a dropped shirt. Kael pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sarin.”

“I panicked!” Sarin burst out. “It made a weird noise, and then it started squatting, and I tried to move it but it hissed at me!”

“We need to take it to Biological Containment,” Kael said. “We don’t know if it’s toxic. Its fur, its claws, its scent markers—any of it could be dangerous.”

The creature on the bed let out a tiny chirp, completely oblivious.

“Babe… really?”

Kael gave him a flat look. “Yes.”

Sarin groaned, collapsing dramatically onto the edge of the bed and cradling the creature in his arms.

“Fine,” Sarin muttered, rubbing its ears in apology. Kael stepped closer, braced a hand on the bed frame, and leaned in just enough that Sarin felt his breath against his cheek. His voice dropped into that low, intimate register reserved just for him.

“And one more thing…”

Sarin blinked up at him. “Yeah?”

“Clean this mess.”

Sarin made a face, drawing the fluffy alien closer to his chest. Kael held Sarin’s gaze for one more heartbeat before smiling.

“The only one leaving your bed in such a state should be me.”

The corridors leading to Biological Containment on the Medical Deck were quieter than the rest of the ship. Even the air was cooler, scrubbed clean by sterilization fields that hummed softly behind the wall panels. 

The cat—that’s what Elara called it—had made itself comfortable in Sarin’s arms, paws kneading absently at his fatigues as it purred in a low, steady vibration that warmed his chest. Kael walked at Sarin’s side, posture straight, eyes forward. 

Elara led them through the maze of corridors, tablet tucked under one arm, her stride purposeful. As the highest-ranking medical officer aboard the Revenant, containment protocol fell squarely under her authority.

When they reached the containment unit, Elara turned, gaze fixed on the cat.

As she stepped closer, the cat blinked up at her, unbothered by the sterile environment. It shifted in Sarin’s arms, nose forward, whiskers twitching, as if greeting her.

“…It’s orange,” she murmured, then looked at Sarin. “Figures.”

She tore her eyes away long enough to activate the containment field, fingers moving automatically even as her attention kept drifting back.

“On Serenova,” she mused, voice quieter now, “cats are a luxury species. Only the wealthiest families can afford one.”

The containment barrier shimmered into place, translucent and faintly blue.

“The waiting list alone,” Elara continued, adjusting the environmental controls, “is multiple cycles long. Entire bloodlines compete for breeding rights.”

Sarin stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

Elara looked at him flatly. “I am not.”

The cat chose that moment to nuzzle under Sarin’s chin, purring louder.

“And you…” she sighed, eyes flicking between Sarin and the cat, “just… got one. For FREE.”

Kael chuckled. “That sounds like Sarin.”

Sarin grinned. “Well, I am charming and completely irresistible, huh babe?”

Elara cleared her throat sharply, reasserting control as she gestured toward the containment platform.

“All right. Hand it over. I need to run scans on the specimen, and on both of you. Full exposure screening. Fur, claws, saliva, waste byproducts—” Her gaze flicked pointedly toward Sarin. “—especially after what you described in your cabin.”

Reluctantly, Sarin entered the field, carefully lowering the cat onto the containment pad. The moment his arms loosened, the cat protested with a sharp, offended meow, tail flicking as it looked back at him.

Sarin winced as he stepped back. “Hey—hey, I’m right here, okay?”

Elara watched the interaction with open fascination as the cat settled, curiously sniffing the soft pad before flopping on its side, eyes locked on Sarin beyond the shimmering field.

“…Extraordinary,” she murmured. “It’s already bonded.”

Kael’s gaze lingered on Sarin, something thoughtful passing behind his eyes.

“Now,” Elara continued, tapping her tablet, “let’s make sure none of you are radioactive, contagious, or carrying something that shouldn’t exist on an Imperial ship.”

Kael gestured for Sarin to step into the full body scanning pod first, then followed when Sarin’s was complete. The pod lights turned green each time, a soft chime indicating both men were negative for dangerous contaminants or infections.

Elara stood just outside the containment field, tablet held against her forearm as data scrolled in tight columns of light. The cat sat in the center of the platform, tail wrapped neatly around its paws, watching all three of them with wide jade eyes.

“Biologically,” Elara began, “it’s stable. Non-toxic. No aggressive pathogens detected. The claws are retractable, the teeth are small, and its primary defensive strategy appears to be… indignation.”

Sarin exhaled in relief. “See? Harmless.”

Kael didn’t look convinced. “You said it marks territory.”

Elara nodded. “Yes. Frequently.”

She swiped her tablet, shifting the projection to a simplified diagram. “Diet first. Cats are obligate carnivores. High protein. No ration paste. No nutrient bars. If you feed it that, it will refuse to eat and then scream at you until you fix it.”

Sarin blinked. “It screams?”

The cat, as if summoned by the implication, let out a sharp, demanding mrrrow.

Elara pointed at it without looking. “Exactly like that.”

She swiped the datapad again. “Second: stimulation. Cats require daily activity. Play. Hunting behavior. Vertical space.”

Sarin brightened immediately. “We can build an enclosure!”

Kael looked at him. “Out of what.”

“Old supply crates,” he replied without hesitation. “Canvas. Rope. We’ve got tons of that. Stack them up, reinforce the corners...”

Elara nodded slowly. “Third… waste management.”

Sarin stiffened.

“The cat requires a designated substrate. It will bury its deposits instinctively.”

Kael’s gaze sharpened. “Substrate? We have sand bags.”

Sarin turned to him. “You’re a genius.”

“I know.”

Elara didn’t smile. “There is, however, no automated cleaning system for this. You need to clean it manually, every day. Sometimes more than once.”

The cat yawned, unconcerned. Sarin stared at it in betrayal. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

Kael’s mouth curved slowly into a smile. “I’ll add it to Sarin’s duty roster.”

Sarin whipped around. “Hey!”

“Daily litter maintenance,” Kael went on, already mentally formatting the entry. “Feeding schedule. Enrichment exercises.”

Sarin stared at him, then at the cat, then back at Kael.

“…Babe.”

Kael finally looked at him, eyes warm now, amused despite himself. “You brought it aboard.”

Sarin glanced at the cat again. It blinked up at him, slow and trusting, then pressed its nose against the containment field.

“Fine,” Sarin muttered. “I’ll do it. All of it.”

“It’s already chosen you,” Elara said quietly. “That’s not insignificant.”

She paused at the door, then glanced back at the cat, grooming itself behind the containment field.

“…You’re very lucky.” Then she left them alone.

The room settled into silence again. Sarin leaned back against the counter, arms relaxed, gazing at the small orange shape with an affectionate smile.

Kael watched him for a moment before speaking.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Sarin looked up. “Yeah?”

Kael nodded. “The enclosure. The food. The mess. We’ll take care of it.”

“We?” Sarin asked, uncertain now. “Together?”

Kael stepped closer and held out his hand.

“Together.”