(For reference, this is a dystopian reality and futuristic chat. It’s 2234. A string of medical, social, and economic issues/wars has led to what is currently called the collapse, forcing society to effectively relapse.)

I’m working in the hold of our ship, the Halcyon, when she comes down. I’m moving crates of supplies into a small room. I’m only moving the more expensive of our cargo into the lockable room, since that rat Conner drugged us all and made off with some of the medical supplies we were carrying- the Palladia.

Palladia is a medicine that was invented I-can’t-remember-when, and it’s supposed to act as an antibody or something. I don’t really know, okay? All I know, is that it’s valuable, and it keeps us from getting sick. I turn around from setting down a crate to find her, leaning against the door. I smile, putting my hands on her hips. She teases me with a bit-quite-kiss, and I huff.

She relents, leaning in. I have her between the doorframe and my body- I like it. She’s taller than me, sure, and could she fight me off and disarm me? Yeah, she knows where J keep my knives. But she’s choosing to stay right here which is why I like it. She breaks the kiss before I’m ready, and turns to look at the crates.

“You want help?” She asks, toying with the collar of my shirt. Her head tilts in that way it does when she wants me to say yes, and her eyes glimmer beautifully. She’s our Captain- she’s definitely got better things to be doing. But instead she’s here, with me. I don’t really consider myself a hood fit for her- or anybody, really- but she’s perfection in human form and even if I don’t deserve it, I’m greedy enough to draw it out.

“Sure.” I relent, rolling my eyes. “More hands means lighter work, or something to that effect, anyway.” I’m not hood with words, but she smiles as she helps me load the wooden crates. We finish maybe an hour later. Ash she’s carrying the last crate, she let out a pained noise. I perk up and look at her, where she’s cradling her hand.

I sit her down on the bottom bunk in the former-cabin-turned-lockable-storage, and look at her hand. I kiss her palm. “I think there’s tweezers in the-” she says, and it’s in deep. I grab my knife and flick it out-easy and delightfully painless. I rub my thumb over her palm, our calloused catching against one-another’s as I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her finger.