Raine Archer
By the time our shift ended, my entire body felt like it had been dragged through concrete. A hot shower was all I could think about—well, that and collapsing into bed without a single thought in my head.
Elias and I walked in silence back to our quarters, the kind of easy silence you only get after years of knowing someone. As soon as the door slid shut behind us, I made a beeline for the bathroom.
"Mine!" I announced, towel already in hand.
"Not a chance," Elias said, tossing his jacket onto the bed and charging after me.
I swerved to block the bathroom door, both hands out. "You're not serious right now."
"I absolutely am."
"You took forever last time! I'm not waiting again while you sing for half an hour and contemplate the meaning of life."
He narrowed his eyes. "I don't sing."
"You do. You hum. It's the same crime."
Before he could argue, I lunged for the door handle. He caught me halfway, pulling me back by the arm. I twisted out of his grip, grabbed the nearest pillow off the bed, and swung it at him.
"Dirty move!" he shouted, catching it mid-air and retaliating with one of his own.
We devolved into a full-blown pillow war, feathers escaping into the air like a ridiculous snowstorm. At one point he tried to body-block me from the door, but I managed to hook my foot around his ankle and send him tumbling onto the bed with a dramatic groan.
He laid there like a corpse, arms sprawled. "Victory is mine."
I smirked. "Is it?"
Then I grabbed his foot, yanked hard, and sent him sliding off the edge of the bed. He hit the floor with a satisfying thud.
I bolted into the bathroom before he could recover. "Victory is mine," I shouted through the door as I locked it. "Enjoy the floor, loser!"
His muffled response was mostly unintelligible—but full of feeling.
When I stepped out twenty minutes later, wrapped in a robe with my hair bundled up in a towel, the room was quieter than before. Steam trailed behind me, and I was still drying my face with a cloth as I walked in.
Elias was stretched out on the bed again, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it owed him something.
He didn't say anything when I walked in, just turned his head slightly to look at me. His eyes lingered.
It wasn't how he usually looked at me.
Not casual. Not teasing. Not even tired.
It was… something else.
Too focused. Too still.
Like he didn't mean to look, but couldn't quite stop.
I blinked and looked away first, brushing it off with a short laugh as I crouched by my suitcase.
"You still pouting?" I asked, rummaging through my clothes.
No answer.
When I glanced up again, he was still watching.
Not smirking. Not annoyed. Just watching.
It made something twitch in my chest—not in a romantic way, not anything like that. Just a brief flicker of discomfort, like I'd walked into a conversation that wasn't meant for me.
I raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Elias blinked, sat up a little too quickly. "Uh—nothing. Just… gonna take my turn."
He grabbed his towel and practically tripped over his own feet on the way to the bathroom.
The door shut behind him, and I sat back on my heels, staring at the spot where he'd just been.
I wasn't sure what that look was. But it wasn't the way best friends looked at each other.
And it definitely wasn't the first time I'd caught it.
I pulled on a loose shirt and some cotton shorts, flopped onto the bed, and let out a sigh loud enough to echo off the walls. My hair was still damp, but I couldn't be bothered to do anything about it. Comfort first, always.
I grabbed my comm and hit call. Mom picked up on the second ring, her face appearing on-screen like she hadn't aged a day since I left.
"Sweetheart! You look exhausted."
"That's because I am," I groaned, turning onto my stomach. "But I'm fine. Alive. Still employed. That counts for something, right?"
She started in with the usual questions—are you eating enough, are you sleeping, what's the air quality like up there—and I answered on autopilot, tossing in just enough detail to avoid suspicion. Dad's voice chimed in from somewhere in the background, mumbling something about getting me new boots. I smiled. They were predictable. Comforting.
Then the bathroom door hissed open.
I glanced up—and yeah, okay, I stared for a second.
Elias walked out in a cloud of steam, towel riding low on his hips, hair wet and clinging to his forehead. He looked like he belonged in a holoposter ad for expensive cologne. I blinked and immediately smirked.
"Okay, love you both, talk later!" I said, practically slapping the hang-up button before they could ask anything else.
I let out a long, dramatic whistle. "Well damn, Carter. No wonder Damon's been undressing you with his eyes. A person wouldn't mind waking up to this view every day."
Elias paused mid-step, threw me a look over his shoulder. "You wish it was you."
I grinned. "Please. If it was, you'd never make it to the bathroom."
He rolled his eyes, somethibg flashed in them for less than a second, something that looked like hurt, but he was still smiling like he smiles every day when we joke around each other. "You are impossible."
"And you're soaked," I pointed out. "Which, honestly, is working for you."
I could swear I saw him blushing, his cheeks reddened and he even avoided eye contact with me.
He shook his head and disappeared back into the bathroom for a second towel, muttering something about me being a menace.
I flopped back onto the bed, satisfied. That was the thing about Elias and me—years of friendship, zero shame, and just enough boundary-pushing to keep things interesting.