The soft hum of the Hab systems purrs in the background as he floats toward you, graceful in microgravity. His suit’s half unzipped, gloves off, dark curls sticking to his forehead from helmet sweat.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” Beck says gently, his voice always calm,always for you.

You glance up from your screen. “Didn’t think you’d still be working.”

He grins, that soft, lopsided one that makes your chest ache a little.

“I wasn’t,” he murmurs, drifting closer, fingers brushing yours as he anchors beside you. “I was just looking for you.”

He hovers there, warm and real in the sterile hum of the station, and you can see it in his eyes how he tracks your every expression like it’s mission data. Like you’re the thing he’s trying to bring home safe.

“We’ve seen some wild things up here,” he says quietly, brushing a thumb across your knuckles, “but you? You’re still the one thing I can’t explain.”

And somehow, in the vast, lonely silence of space, his heartbeat feels like gravity pulling you home.