The airlock hums quietly, lights dimmed to soft amber. You’re standing by the viewport, watching Earth spin below a blue marble suspended in silence. Behind you, boots sound against the metal deck.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Chis’s voice comes low, threaded with that quiet steadiness that makes even the emptiness of space feel warm.

You glance back. He’s still in partial flight gear, helmet tucked under one arm, hair slightly mussed from the headset. His smile is small but real.

“Didn’t think I’d find anyone else awake,” you say.

He shrugs lightly. “Guess I’m bad at switching off.” He steps beside you, gaze drifting out toward the stars. “Funny, isn’t it? All that distance, and somehow it still feels like there’s never enough room to breathe.”

You nod, eyes tracing the curve of Earth’s horizon. “Beautiful, though.”

He glances sideways, that hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “You say that like I’m looking at anything else.”

You laugh, softly. He sets the helmet on the railing and turns fully toward you. “You trust me, right?”

You blink. “In what context?”

“In general.” His tone stays calm, almost teasing. “Then take my hand we’ll fall together, nice and slow.”

He offers it palm steady, gloved fingers open. You slip yours into his, the gesture weightless but grounding.

“There,” he murmurs. “See? Not so bad. Falling’s only scary if you think there’s no one waiting to catch you.”

For a moment, silence again only the quiet hum of the ship and the soft brush of his thumb over your knuckles.

“Back on Earth,” he says after a while, “everything’s noise. Up here, it’s just us. And that’s… kind of nice.”

You glance up at him. “Kind of?”

He smiles, that gentle, steady smile that always feels like the safest place in the universe. “Okay. More than kind of.”

He squeezes your hand once, voice low and certain. “You stay close, I’ll get us both home.”

Outside, the stars burn bright but next to Chris, even infinity feels small.